


Mpreg Prompts

by Pigzxo



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 82,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various anonymous mpreg prompts given to me on my tumblr account (wellimhavinga3outof10day). Mildly chronological at the start, not so much near the end. Also spanning different universes, depending on the prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey finding out he's pregnant and telling Ian. (Bonus if it has happy Mickey tears) and then Ian and Mickey telling their families.

“Fuck.”

            Mickey stared down at the shaking pregnancy test in his hand and the fucking cheerful pink plus sign staring back at him. Taking a deep breath, he threw it into the bathroom sink and rubbed a hand across his face. His whole body was trembling.

            “Fuck,” he repeated, unsure what else he could really say. He wandered back over to the sink and stared down at the stick again. It hadn’t changed. _Of course it hadn’t fucking changed._ But was he really... pregnant? Ian used condoms... most of the time.

            “FUCK.”

            He winced at the volume of his own voice and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. He stepped towards the door, intent on closing it before whoever it was got there, but was stopped when Mandy pushed on the other side. She gave him a weird look as he pushed to shut it and asked, “What’s up?”

            “Nothing,” he snapped. “Trying to take a fucking piss in piece.”

            Mandy raised an eyebrow incredulously and poked her head through the crack in the door. Her mouth dropped as she asked, “Are you using my fucking pregnancy tests?”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Mickey,” she said, shoving in. She had enough force behind her and Mickey was off his game enough that she easily made her way into the small room. She knocked him to the side and looked down at the sink. At the bright pink plus sign. “Fuck.”

            She looked back at him, blue eyes wide, and said, “Fuck.”

            Mickey stared back at her, unable to come up with a more eloquent way of saying what he had already said three times. Then she shook her head, regaining some control over herself, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, congrats, right?” she said.

            “Congrats?” he repeated. “Congrats on another mouth to feed? Congrats on putting more hospital bills on our shoulders? Congrats on keeping myself from making a goddamn paycheck for god knows how long? We’re barely fucking afloat here, Mandy.”

            “But a baby’s always a good thing,” she countered. “And it’s never a good time to have one and you and Ian have been talking about it so...” She shrugged. “Congrats.” She nodded and forced a smile, like she really meant it that time.

            But Mickey was a thousand miles away. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck. Ian.”

            Mandy stared at him. “Yeah. Ian. Or is it not Ian’s?”

            He took a half-hearted swing at her, which she dodged easily before leaning back onto the sink. She drummed her fingers against the porcelain, waiting for a response to her question. Mickey sighed. “I have to tell Ian.”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “How?”

            She shrugged and then turned to pick the stick out of the sink. Waving it in the air, she said, “You could always just show him this.”

            He stared at her for a moment and then said, “You know I peed on that, right?”

            Mandy dropped the stick immediately and reached forward to rub her hand against Mickey’s t-shirt. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “Next time you use my stuff, fucking ask first.” She left the room, leaving the door to the bathroom wide open behind her.

***

            Mickey paced the living room nervously, rubbing his hands together as he waited for Ian to come home. Every time he heard a noise he glanced out the front window just to see a truck going by or a bunch of kids breaking bottles or the goddamn neighbour mowing his lawn _one more fucking time_. Eventually the guy was going to run out of grass.

            Then, finally, it was Ian who made the noise. He walked up to the front door, running a hand through his red hair, and looked tired as fuck. And Mickey froze. His feet stopped moving, his mind stopped turning, and his lungs stopped breathing.

            The front door opened and Ian walked in, still sweaty from his shift at the club. He unzipped the top of his sweater and glanced towards Mickey, still frozen near the front window. “Hey, Mick,” he said, heading into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water and chugged half of it before looking back at his statuesque boyfriend. Frowning, he asked, “You okay?”

            Mickey just stared at him. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear a word that Ian said. He watched as Ian gave him a weird look and stepped forward, intent on reaching out to him. Before he could though, before he could even get halfway towards Mickey, Mickey blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

            Ian stopped next to the kitchen table. “What?”

            “Pregnant.”

            The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them moving. Then Ian repeated, “Pregnant?”

            Mickey nodded.

            And slowly, very slowly, a smile broke out across Ian’s face. All his earlier fatigue faded away and he let out his beautiful laugh before looking back at Mickey, his eyes shining. He stepped forward, looking down at Mickey’s belly, and asked again, “Fucking pregnant?”

            Mickey nodded again.

            And, when Ian looked up into his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile back at him. He laughed too, Ian’s mirth contagious, and swallowed back the few tears that prickled at the backs of his eyes. He sniffed when Ian laid a hand against his belly and then sobbed harder when Ian looked up at him in complete wonderment.

            Ian wrapped his arms around him and Mickey collapsed into his shoulder, not knowing how he could ever feel happier in his entire life.

            A long moment later, Ian pulled back and took out his phone. Shaking his head, he said, “I gotta tell Fiona.”

            “You’re gonna text her?”

            “Why not?”

            “Because-” Mickey paused and snatched the phone from Ian’s hands. He deleted the message he was sending to Fiona and looked up at him in exasperation. “Don’t you think this is something that has to be said in person? Or, you know, later? We don’t know what could go wrong or-”

            “Mick,” Ian said. He reached out to caress Mickey’s tear-stained cheek and shuffled his feet forward so he could press their foreheads together. His breath was hot against Mickey’s skin as he whispered, “Everything’s gonna be fine. And everything’s gonna go our way. And you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

            Mickey nodded shakily.

            Ian tilted Mickey’s chin up and smiled so broadly Mickey couldn’t help but smile back. “Now give me my phone.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and relented.

             Ian took his phone and happily texted his sister. Mickey watched as his fingers tapped away then discarded his sour expression for a happy one when Ian looked at him again. “All done,” Ian said. “Everyone knows.”

            “Everyone?”

            “Yeah. Texted the whole family.”

            “You did what?”

            Rolling his eyes, Ian grabbed his arms and said, “Everything will be fine.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “I’ll fuck you.”

            Mickey pushed him away and waved a warning finger at him. “That’s how we got into this mess.”

            As Ian laughed, the doorbell rang and Mickey headed over to open the door. When he did, he was greeted with a full-on assault from the Gallagher family. Fiona stood front and centre, holding out her phone like it was some sort of weapon, displaying a text that read _WE’RE PREGNANT!!!!_ Behind her were Lip and Debbie, trailing a reluctant Carl and a blissfully ignorant Liam.

            “Hey, congrats,” Fiona said with a smile. Then she stepped into the house, walking past him, and asked, “What the fuck, Ian?”

            Mickey looked over his shoulder at their confrontation as the other Gallaghers streamed into the house. Lip patted him on the shoulder and Debbie offered him a smile that he caught out of the corner of his eye. Carl stopped in front of him as his sister and brother fought and asked, “When’s the baby coming?”

            “Uhh-”

            “Boy or a girl?”

            Mickey stared at him.

            “You know fucking anything?”

            “You can’t know anything this early,” Debbie snapped, coming back for her brother. “He’s not even showing.”

            Carl stuck his tongue out at her and the two of them started fighting over the sounds of Ian and Fiona arguing over whether or not it was appropriate to tell someone you were pregnant over text message. And Mickey stood near the front door, looking over the whole family, wondering how the hell he was supposed to bring a child into this mess.

            Then Fiona reached forward and hugged her brother. Ian smiled and squeezed her tightly. Debbie and Carl stopped fighting long enough for both of them to wish them congratulations. And as soon as Fiona pulled away from Ian, she started detailing a plan to get Mickey the right vitamins and them into a birth class and every other thing that Mickey had never even thought about until that exact moment.

            Ian smiled through all of it, taking all the information down in his phone.

            Liam tugged at Mickey’s leg and Mickey looked down at him, smiling slightly. Liam asked, “Where’s the baby?”

            “The baby?”

            He nodded. “Fiona said there was a baby.”

            Mickey stared at him for a long moment and then patted his stomach. “Baby’s right in here.”

            Opening his mouth, his eyes going wide, Liam asked, “You _ate_ the baby?”

            Laughing, Mickey shook his head and slid down onto the ground so he could look Liam in the eye. He said, “No. The baby is... new. He needs some help getting along in the world right now, so he’s in here” –Mickey pointed to his stomach– “until he’s ready to survive on his own. You get that?”

            Liam stared at him for a long moment and then said, “So I was in Fiona’s stomach?”

            “Umm...” Mickey trailed off, unsure of how to explain the kid’s absentee mother to him.

            But then Fiona picked him up off the ground and said, “It’s time to go, bud.” She smiled down at Mickey and said, “Really, congrats. I’m happy for you guys.”

            “Congrats!” Liam shouted.

            And then all of the Gallaghers filed out of the house.

            Mickey looked up at Ian, who was still standing by the kitchen table, looking a little overwhelmed by all the attention himself. He met Mickey’s eyes with a smile and then walked over to sit beside him on the floor.

            “You all right?” he asked.

            Mickey nodded.

            Ian leaned his head onto Mickey’s shoulder and kissed him through his t-shirt. He mumbled, “I’m really happy, you know that?”

            “Me too.”

            “Yeah?” Ian looked up at him.

            Mickey smiled. “Yeah.”

            Ian shifted forward and kissed him slowly, pressing his hand to the back of his neck. The kiss only broke when Ian smiled, unable to contain himself, and the two of them looked at each other, so close together that when they blinked their eyelashes tangled together.

            “You’re fucking pregnant, Mick,” Ian whispered.

            “I know, asshole.”

            “I love you.”

            Mickey nodded. “I love you too.”

            Then Ian kissed him again and all Mickey’s doubts were gone. If there was anyone in this world that he wanted to have a baby with, it was Ian. And if there was any family in the world he felt confident would take care of it, it was the Gallaghers.


	2. The Big Purple Pillow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about Mickey as he starts to show and everyone comes out the woodwork to help them (Ian and Mickey). Like Fiona, Vee, Kev, guys at the bar, Linda, Svet etc. (Just to clarify those were just examples of people. I by no means expect you to all of those people. Like at all.) And Ian just loving the bump and how everyone is so dotting and sweet to Mickey which is making the pregnancy easier on him.

Mickey had always known that he would probably have a beer gut. His father had a beer gut and all of his brothers did and he had resigned himself to the knowledge that one day he would have a stomach too big for him to suck in.

            But never had he thought he wouldn’t be able to suck in his stomach because he was pregnant.

            Fucking pregnant.

            He still couldn’t believe it sometimes.

            “Hey, Mick, do you know-”

            Mickey dropped his shirt as Ian stepped into the bedroom with an eyebrow raised. Mickey shifted away from the mirror awkwardly, like he hadn’t just been staring at the bump, and cleared his throat. “Know what?” he asked.

            Ian glanced towards the mirror then back at Mickey. “What are you doing?”

            “Nothin’,” he replied, too defensively.

            Stepping into the room, Ian walked up to Mickey and glanced into the mirror. Then he looked back at his boyfriend and said, “Just staring at yourself?”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Mick-” Ian cut himself off as he looked down at Mickey’s belly. And, while it may have been true that the bump hadn’t grown overnight, today was the first day where it was noticeably not just a growing beer gut. The first day where if he walked outside, someone might have asked him when the baby was due.

            Ian stepped closer and placed his hand over the bump, staring down at his own hand. He pulled up Mickey’s shirt and laid his cool fingers against Mickey’s skin. His breath caught and he looked up at Mickey, green-blue eyes wide. And Mickey smiled back, like he always did. Ian always made him feel better about being pregnant.

            “You feel anything yet?” Ian asked.

            Mickey shrugged. “Not supposed to until, like, four months? Maybe longer.”

             “Been about three and a half.”

            Again, Mickey shrugged, and stepped away from Ian, letting his shirt fall over his stomach. “Yeah, well, nothin’ yet. Tell you if I do.” He stared at Ian, trying to silently tell him to get out of the way, but Ian just stood there staring back.

            “You hungry?”

            “I’m always hungry.”

            Ian laughed. “Wanna go out?”

            Mickey shook his head, cold terror running through him at the very thought. He didn’t want strangers asking about his pregnancy or asking if they could touch his belly. He definitely didn’t want doting looks from people who used to be afraid of him just because he was carrying a fucking baby around like a giant sign saying “I take it in the ass”.

            Shrugging, Ian took a step back and said, “Okay. I’ll... bring food back.” He paused for a second, his hand on the doorframe, and asked, “You okay, Mick?”

            He nodded, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. And Ian hesitated a moment, his fingers tapping against the doorframe, before nodding and stepping away. Mickey let out a deep breath, cursing silently before sitting back on the end of the bed and closing his eyes.

            He had no idea how he was going to make it through the next six months.

***

            There was a knock on the door and Mickey looked up from the TV. He was suddenly mad at himself for closing the curtains so he could play video games alone in the dark, because it gave him no ability to check who was at the door before ignoring them. He considered ignoring them anyways, but he knew Mandy had gone out for groceries and Ian had left for work and that it was very possible that one or both of them had forgotten their keys.

            Struggling, he pushed off the back of his couch and onto his feet, groaning as he did so. He stumbled through the darkness of the living room, keeping one hand on the furniture at all times to make sure that he didn’t fall. His feet were asleep under him, making each step painful.

            He opened the door, blinking at the sunlight, and nearly didn’t recognize Vee standing on the front porch. “Hey, Mick,” she said. “Can I come in?”

            He blinked and said, “Uhh... Ian’s not here.”

            “I wanna talk with you.”

            For a long moment he just stared at her before moving to the side and letting her pass. Which, apparently, had been a bad idea. Because it wasn’t just her entering the house. It was her carrying about thirty-nine pounds of baby supplies and trailing two twin girls who were barely able to walk. Vee yelled at them to keep up and Mickey stared at them blankly, unsure of what to do faced with tiny toddlers.

            “Close the door,” Vee said.

            Mickey, too stunned to balk at the idea of being ordered around in his own home, shut the door. Then he turned to watch Vee dump the assorted baby crap in the middle of the living room before walking over to the window and pulling up the blinds. The light nearly blinded Mickey but, again, he couldn’t find the words to complain.

            Vee sat down on the couch and tapped the cushion beside her. “Sit.”

            He crossed his arms. “The fuck do you want?”

            “To talk to you.”

            “Your kids are getting away.”

            She waved a hand dismissively and then tapped the couch again.

            With a sigh, Mickey walked over to the couch and sat down, eyeing her warily. She offered him a thin smile before turning at the sound of something breaking and yelling at the twins. Mickey winced at the noise, shifted back a bit on the couch, and then waited for her attention to refocus.

            She turned back and tapped him on the knee to make sure she had his attention. “Look,” she said. “I know this whole pregnancy thing isn’t easy. And I had three of ‘em in me, so I had it harder than you do. But you can’t lock yourself in the house all day with the blinds drawn eating Cheetos.”

            Mickey glared at her. “None of your fucking business, if you ask me.”

            She sighed. “Yeah, well, when your boyfriend walks into the bar all whiny because you’re fucked up, it becomes my business.”

            “I’m fine, thanks,” he snapped. “So if you wanna fucking leave-”

            Vee held up a hand to silence him and, oddly, it worked. She frowned at him. “You should be happy. You’re pregnant. You wanted to be pregnant. You wanted a baby. How can anything be wrong?” She paused for a second and he was about to defend himself when she laughed. He blinked and she said, “Bullshit, right? It’s not all ‘morning glow’ and happy giggles. It’s hard as shit. And it sucks. And you’ve got these strangers that think just because you’re pregnant it means that you’re open for business. Like, the fuck is that?” She shook her head. “You got any beer around here?”

            Mickey nodded, smiling for the first time since Ian left, and walked over to the fridge to get her a bottle. He handed it back to her and sat back down, waiting for her to continue her tirade. And as soon as she had had another sip, she did.

            “My entire world didn’t change for these fuckers,” Vee said. “And everyone kept telling me that meant there was something wrong with me. I thought I’d love ‘em when I was pregnant. Thought they’d be my whole damn life when I was tryin’ to get pregnant. But it didn’t happen. And there’s nothin’ wrong with that. ‘Cause Kev loves ‘em with his whole damn heart and I like to see him happy. Don’t you like to see Ian happy?”

            “Yeah, but-”

            “He’s not the one carrying a baby in his belly,” she finished.

            Mickey snorted and nodded.

            She tapped his knee again, a gesture of comfort that she did too hard for it to really be effective. “Sucks, but sometimes we do shitty things for the people we love,” she said. Then she gestured to all the crap she had dumped on the floor. “Somewhere in there there’s this big purple pillow that’s a goddamned lifesaver. You wrap your arms around it when you sleep and the belly won’t even bother you anymore. You got the good morning sickness stuff somewhere in there –you know, the shit you’re not technically supposed to use anymore, but my kids look fine don’t they?– And then you’ve got your baby chair and an old stroller and my mom got me this hand butter that’s supposed to be soothin’ but it made me sick. See what you think.”

            Mickey stared at all the stuff, wondering how the hell he was supposed to find all the little things stuffed into the pockets of the bigger ones. “Thanks,” he said.

            “Not a problem,” she replied. “Us Southsiders gotta stick together, right?”

            He nodded and she got up, leaving him alone in the now too-bright house. He was half-tempted to immediately close the blinds again, but thought better of it. Slipping from the couch, he sat down on the ground and started to sort through the stuff Vee had given him.

            Ian came home just as Mickey was pulling the large purple pillow into his lap.

            “What’s that?” Ian asked.

            “My new boyfriend,” Mickey replied.

            Laughing, Ian walked over and sat down beside him. He punched the pillow and said, “You tryin’ to take my boyfriend? I’ll show you a thing or two.” He took another swing and Mickey swatted him in the face with a pillow.

            Ian smiled and pulled the pillow across both of their laps. Leaning forward, he pecked Mickey on the lips while sliding a hand under his shirt to feel the bump. Mickey winced slightly at the contact and brought his hand down on top of Ian’s, breathing too hard for the simple kiss.

            Knocking their foreheads together, Ian asked, “You okay?”

            Mickey nodded. “Vee came by.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. Said you were being a bitch at the bar so she thought she’d stop by and make sure you weren’t being a bitch to me too.”

            Ian laughed and leaned in for another kiss. Their lips touched fleetingly, giving way to Ian’s low sound of pleasure as he pulled back. “She give you the new boyfriend?”

            Mickey nodded. “Said he’d be better to me in bed. Actually wear a fucking condom.”

            Ian turned away, trying to hide it as his expression fell. Mickey’s stomach curled and he searched for the words to let him know it was a joke, just a joke, but Ian beat him to it. “You really wanna do this, Mick?” he asked. His eyes shone as he looked up at Mickey. “Because if you don’t wanna, if you’re only doing this for me, then just-”

            Mickey leaned forward and kissed him to shut him up. He pulled away, keeping his hand on Ian’s cheek, and said, “I wanna have this baby with you. I want a life with you. Okay? I love you.”

            Nodding, Ian said, “But do you want just the baby? If you didn’t have me, if it wasn’t for me... would you do it?”

            Mickey’s silence was answer enough for Ian, who pulled away roughly. He still stayed sitting on the floor though, staring at all the baby crap in front of him as Mickey stared at the side of his head. It was a long moment before Ian pushed off of the floor, claiming he had to take a shower, and then headed out of the house altogether.

            Mickey cursed under his breath.

***

            With grand reluctance, Mickey left the house the next day. He tried not to let it bother him that Ian hadn’t come home last night, since he had at least texted to say that he was okay. But it made him feel like he had gone back years in time to when Ian had left for the army and been gone for months.

            Some part of him knew this was different, that this was _very_ different, but it still bothered him to have Ian gone for a whole night without knowing where he was.

            Mickey pushed through the door to the Alibi and was immediately greeted by Kev saying, “No way. Not here. We do not serve the pregnant. It’s bad for the baby.”

            Mickey flipped him off as he perched on one of the stools at the end of the bar. Kev smiled, walking over while flipping a rag over his shoulder, and said, “Come on, Mick. Cheer the fuck up. You know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”

            “Ian wants it to be a surprise.”

            Kev laughed. “Then how do you know what colour to paint?”

            “What kinda rich fuckers do you think we are?”

            He laughed again and started to wipe the bar in front of Mickey. “I was thinking,” he said. “Me and some of the other fathers in the neighbourhood have this poker game that we get together for on Thursday nights and it’s a lot of bitching and complaining but it’s a lot of fun and I think you should come.”

            Mickey cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not a father yet.”

            Kev made a dismissive sound. “You were a father the minute that thing started growing in you, all right?” He leaned over the counter, pointing a finger in Mickey’s face. “Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise, because from the second that pregnancy test went pink on you, you’ve been doing everything for the little guy in there. Or little gal. That makes you a father.”

            Mickey blinked at him and then glanced down at his protruding stomach. He felt a little warmth flicker through him at the thought that maybe Vee had been wrong about something. Maybe he had already started changing for the little guy. Or little gal.

            Hitting him with the rag, Kev said, “Think about coming,” before walking away.

            Mickey sat there for a moment longer before realizing he had no real reason for coming to the bar at all. He sighed, half wishing he could still have ordered a drink, before slipping off of the stool. He stood up and walked towards the bathroom, flipping off several more people who made cracks about how he wasn’t allowed to drink.

            He almost made it to the door when Svetlana stopped him, her manicured hand pressing into his chest as she looked down at the baby bump. “You have baby?”

            He swallowed and stepped away. “Soon.”

            She nodded. “Baby good thing. You take care of baby better than you take care of wife.”

            Rolling his eyes, he moved to step away, but she stopped him again. Her expression softened slightly and she offered him a smile. “I come by to baby proof house, yes?”

            Mickey stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out whether or not she was serious. Then he nodded and said, “Thanks.”

            She shrugged. “Leave it to you and little thing will die as soon as it takes its first steps.” She patted him hard on the chest and then walked away.

            He stood stock still for a moment, floored by the unexpected kindness. Then he cleared his throat, wiping away his smile with his hand, and went to the bathroom.

***

            Late that night, Mickey was trying to get comfortable around his new boyfriend when he heard the sound of someone stumbling into the house. He grumbled unhappily, but refused to move his pregnant ass from the bed. He curled his arms tighter around the pillow, squeezing all the stuffing out of the spot he was holding, and closed his eyes tight against the noise.

            Then the door to the bedroom opened and Mickey forced himself to roll over onto his back. He cracked one eye open sleepily to stare at Ian as he stumbled into the room, his eyes closed in the darkness.

            He flopped down across the bottom of the bed and murmured, “I missed you, Mick.”

            Mickey kicked him gently. “Up here, asshole.”

            Ian blinked open his eyes and looked up at Mickey. His gaze was hazy as he crawled up the length of the bed, his arms nearly giving out beneath him, and he nuzzled into the crook of Mickey’s shoulder. His hand crept up the length of Mickey’s leg and stopped resting against his belly.

            “I love this belly,” Ian muttered. He rubbed his hand in circles over Mickey’s skin. “Every damn thing about it. I just... I love it.”

            Mickey turned his head to look at Ian, which was hard with the larger boy sprawled halfway across him. He managed to get an arm around Ian’s head to stroke back his red hair. “You drunk?” Mickey asked.

            “So drunk.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes. “What happened to solidarity? I can’t drink so you weren’t going to.”

            “You can drink vicariously through me.”

            Despite himself, Mickey laughed. He pressed a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head and murmured, “You’re such an asshole.”

            “Mmm...” Ian mumbled. He shook his head. “I just love you and this baby so much... so, so much... I can’t... I don’t want you to feel any different...”

            Mickey felt his smile fade and he kissed the top of Ian’s head again. “I don’t feel any different,” he whispered.

            “Liar.”

            Mickey shook his head, the warmth of Ian’s breath spreading through him. The motion of Ian’s fingers against his belly was soothing, making fatigue wash over him. “I want you and I want this baby and I want... I want fucking pregnancy photos so I don’t forget what a big, fucking idiot you were over this tiny ass baby bump.”

            Ian laughed into his shoulder.

            “God, I love you,” Mickey murmured.

            Ian kissed his shoulder and then moved to kiss Mickey’s belly. He rested his head against the bump for a moment before Mickey shifted uncomfortably, then returned to his earlier position. “I love you both. Love all of you. Love... everything,” Ian mumbled.

            Mickey smiled, his eyes closing as his fingers stroked through Ian’s hair. And he decided in that moment that maybe, just maybe, Ian was a better boyfriend than a big purple pillow.


	3. Braxton Hicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Would you ever write a story about Mickey thinking he was in labor(Braxton Hicks) and he's with someone other than Ian, so when he goes to the hospital everyone rushes over because they think its time?

“Aah, c’mon man, you’re not actually here, are you?” Kev asked as Mickey walked into The Alibi. Mickey flipped him off but he went on, “Seriously. You’ve got like, what, two weeks left? You can’t be sittin’ around here that pregnant. It looks bad.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and gestured up the stairs. “I’m goin’ to check on the girls.” Then he left before he could hear anymore of Kev’s protests about how he shouldn’t have been walking up stairs that steep with his big belly and how he could check on the girls and how Mickey should’ve been at home, just waiting for his water to break.

            Mickey found it very easy to believe Kev had been annoying as shit to Vee when she was pregnant.

            He walked up the stairs into the small space. A couple of the curtains were fluttering, the uneven groans of old men filling the space. As he paused at the doorway trying to catch his breath, Svetlana walked up to him. She crossed her arms over her half-uncovered breasts and said, “You shouldn’t be here. Bad for baby.”

            “Fuck off,” Mickey managed. He pushed away from the door and lumbered into the room, taking a seat at the small desk in the corner. He shuffled around a few papers, but had no idea what the fuck they meant. Glancing back at Svetlana, he asked, “Business goin’ good?”

            She shrugged. “Good enough.”

            He nodded and looked back down at the numbers, trying to weigh their earnings against their expenses in his mind. He pulled out the desk drawer and flipped through a fat stack of cash. He was halfway through counting the bills when a pain rolled through his stomach, bad enough that he had to gasp to keep hold of his breath.

            He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the desk, his nails scraping against the old wood. Svetlana looked back at him from where she was across the room but he shook his head at her and went back to counting the cash. He was nearing the end when the pain came again and he shut his eyes against it, trying to push back the pain.

            “Everything all right?” she asked.

            Mickey nodded tightly.

            Then he let out a groaning yell as the pain came again, tight around his large stomach, and his fingernails slipped from the desk’s surface. Svetlana caught his hand and squeezed his fingers tightly.

            “Bad pain?” she asked. “Right around baby?”

            He nodded.

            “We go to hospital.”

            “We’re not going to the fucking-” He was cut off by his own groan and he gripped her hand hard. She didn’t even flinch.

            “Hospital,” she repeated. “Now.”

            Mickey nodded and let her guide him to his feet, his nails digging into her skin. She led him down the steep staircase and out through the bar, wrapping an arm around his waist to better steady him as his body shook around the contractions. Because that’s what he now realized they were.

            Fucking contractions.

            As they passed Kev, he said, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What’s goin’ on? What’s happening? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

            Just before the door closed behind them, Mickey yelled, “CALL IAN!”

***

            Ian was in the process of baby-proofing the cabinet under the sink when his phone buzzed. He was thirty percent sure the cabinet wasn’t supposed to be open while he was doing it, but he had it open anyways as he tried to fit the little white plastic handles onto the door.

            Fumbling for his phone, he dropped the handle and swore. He checked the caller ID, saw it was Kev, and let it go to voicemail. He was back to working on the handle when his phone lit up again, still with Kev’s name.

            Absently, Ian answered the call and pressed the button for speaker phone.

            “Whaddya want?” he mumbled around the nail between his lips. He took it out and placed it against the handle –again, not sure he was doing it right– and settled the hammer just above the nail.

            “MICKEY’S HAVING THE BABY!”

            Ian swung at the exact wrong moment and hit his thumb. “FUCK.”

            “FUCK IS RIGHT!” Kev yelled back. “He and Svet are on the way to the hospital and he’s swearing and cursing and me and Vee are on the way and you need to fucking get there, Ian!”

            “Wait, what?” Ian asked, cradling his hand to his chest. He looked at the crap on the floor in front of him, trying to remember back to what Kev had said before he swung the hammer. “Mick can’t be having the baby. We’ve still got... three weeks.”

            “Well, it’s comin’ and you gotta move.”

            “Right. Thanks.”

            Ian hung up the phone and then didn’t move a muscle. He was frozen on the tiles of the kitchen floor, unsure of what to do with all the stuff he had dropped on the floor. Did he clean it up? Babies could take a while and this stuff couldn’t be on the floor if they came back with a baby. Or did he just go? The baby was being born. And not just any baby. _His_ baby.

            “Fuck,” Ian said.

            He looked around the house, suddenly acutely aware of what Mickey had been bitching about for the last month. That they weren’t fucking ready. That they had no idea how to be parents. And now... they were going to have a baby. Right fucking now. And Ian was completely terrified.

            So he did what he usually did when he was terrified. He called Fiona.

            She picked up three rings in. “Hey, Ian. What’s up?”

            “Mickey’s having the baby.”

            “He’s... fuck,” she said. He could hear her scrambling for her keys and her purse and then running around as she looked for the phone in her hand. “All right, all right, all right. We’re comin’. Where?”

            “I... umm... I don’t know.”

            “You don’t... Ian. Are you there?”

            Ian shook his head. He rubbed a hand down his face and said, “Mick went to The Alibi and Svet’s with him and Kev called me and said they were going to the hospital and I don’t know where they are or what to do or-”

            “Ian, breathe,” Fiona said. And he did. “I’ll be by to pick you up in five. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

            Ian shook his head again. “No. No, Fiona, it’s not gonna be okay. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing and there’s gonna be this screaming baby in the house that’s gonna be depending on me to take care of it and I have no clue what the fuck-”

            “Breathe,” she repeated. He could hear the kids moving around her and knew everyone was on the way. He really had to get his shit together. “I’ve been taking care of kids since Lip was born. And if I can raise five damn good ones while I’m still a kid myself, you and Mick can raise one with no problems at all. Take a deep breath. We’re almost there. Try to be excited, Ian. You’re having a baby.”

            “I’m having a baby,” he repeated breathlessly. He smiled at the words. “Thanks, Fi.”

            “See ya soon.”

***

            Mickey sat on the hospital bed, shifting uncomfortably in his hospital gown. Svetlana stood by his side, gripping his hand. She said nothing and he wasn’t sure whether or not he liked that or not. He just wanted Ian to be there. Another contraction hit him and he breathed through it heavily, crunching her bones in his hand.

            “Where the fuck is Ian?” he groaned.

            “Orange boy will be here,” Svetlana said so calmly she almost convinced him.

            Mickey let go of her hand and looked up at her. “You can go, you know.”

            She shook her head. “Baby needs me.”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t.”

            Smirking, she said, “You thought I was talking about that baby?”

            He rolled his eyes at her and tried to shift up in the bed, but couldn’t. She fluffed the pillows behind him, steadying him enough that he could get up, and for a moment he didn’t mind that she was there. If he couldn’t have Ian, at least he had someone to wait with him.

            He was starting to get bored when he heard the sounds of a thousand people barrelling into the hospital. Craning his neck, he looked through the door to see the entire Gallagher clan and Mandy stopping at the front desk. He caught Liam’s eye and waited as the little boy tugged on his brother’s leg, trying to get his attention.

            Ian looked towards him and then towards the room Liam pointed at. Mickey smiled when Ian looked at him and, a second later, Ian was in the room hugging him. “Oh my god,” Ian breathed out. “Oh my god. You’re here. You’re okay. Are you okay?”

            Mickey nodded, smothering a laugh.

            The rest of the Gallaghers settled into the waiting room, only Mandy coming in to join them. “Hey,” she said, squeezing her brother’s hand. “How you doing?”

            He shrugged.

            Then he tensed, waiting for the next contraction, but it didn’t come. The doctor had given him some sort of IV, but he couldn’t tell what the stuff in it was for. The four of them chatted for a while before Svetlana and Mandy left to see the others. Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand.

            “You feeling anything?”

            Mickey shook his head.

            And about an hour later a doctor came in, sighing, and flipped through a couple pages on his chart. “Mickey, right?” he asked. Mickey nodded. “Sorry to keep you here for so long. Busy day. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

            Mickey frowned. “I’m havin’ a baby.”

            The doctor smiled. “You are, but not today. Braxton Hicks is a type of false labour that occurs during most pregnancies. You’re fine to go home.”

            Ian and Mickey stared at the doctor for a long moment before Ian said, “You mind telling that to the people waiting outside?”

            Mickey laughed.

            The doctor smiled and left them.

            Ian shook his head. “An hour and a half for that.”

            “That’s the health care system for ya.”

            Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand again and pulled him off of the bed. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head and then said, “Hey, well, at least we know now how long it’ll take to get to the hospital and back.”

            “Oh god,” Mickey said. “Please tell me you didn’t somehow put me through this on purpose just so I’d be forced to do your fucking trial run.”

            Ian laughed and kissed him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

            Mickey flipped him off and Ian left the room to let him change.


	4. The Baby Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the girls (Fi, Debs, Vee, Mandy, Svet, Sheila) throwing Mickey a baby shower. And everyone brings gifts and Mickey is glowing and Ian is a proud papa, and just fluff.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey said as Ian took the grocery bags from him. He might have been huge and slow, but he could carry a couple of goddamn bags filled with fucking vegetables.

            “Could be heavy,” Ian said.

            “Then you shoulda gotten off your ass and gone yourself.”

            Ian gave him a look like that would have been ridiculous as he piled way too many grocery bags onto his arms. The plastic handles cut into his skin and more than one bag looked very close to tearing. Mickey sighed and reached out to grab the bottoms of the heaviest bags.

            “Let me help,” Mickey said.

            “It’s fine, fine. Just go.”

            “Ian-”

            “You’re like twenty minutes late already.”

            “There was a fucking line halfway out the fucking door,” Mickey replied, still trying to wrestle bags off of Ian’s arms. But Ian was very good at using Mickey’s growing belly to his advantage and keeping the bags out of reach. “Would you just give me the fucking bags?”

            “Would you just get inside?”

            “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mickey snapped. He stepped back from Ian, putting his hands up in surrender as the other man took a defensive stance. Or, as defensive of a stance as someone can take while they’re bogged down with grocery bags. “I went to the store and got your fucking vegetables for whatever juice cleanse you’re thinkin’ of doing while we have a newborn baby. And don’t even get me started on how fucking stupid it’s gonna be to have both of you crying twenty-four-seven. So maybe instead of bitchin’ and playing keep away, you can just let me take the goddamn bags into the house?”

            Ian sighed heavily and held out one of his arms. Shaking his head, Mickey reached forward and took the bags from him. Then he walked towards the house, grumbling about how damn stupid his boyfriend was, and pushed through the open front door.

            “SURPRISE!”

            Mickey dropped the bags on the floor and heard the sickeningly crack of eggs hitting tile. He looked down at the bag and swore. Then he glanced up at the collected people in front of him, staring with frozen smiles at him and he slowly turned to see Ian in the doorway, a goofy smile on his face.

            “A baby shower?” Mickey asked. He glanced around the house at the streamers and banners and the big pile of presents on the coffee table. It was an odd mix of blues and pinks since Ian refused to find out the sex of the baby. Mickey had neglected to tell him that he kinda sorta already knew.

            Ian stepped into the house and gently pushed Mickey forward. The two of them stepped through the bags Mickey had dropped, Ian dropping his as well, and made their way into the living room. Ian sat Mickey down in the centre of the couch and then flopped down beside him, keeping one arm around him.

            Mickey looked up at the assorted guests who were slowly moving from their positions. Fiona sat down on his other side holding a notepad with a list of things on it. She already had two things checked off and was in the process of checking off a third. Vee sat down in the armchair to his left, Kev standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Mandy and Debbie sat down on the floor across from him, both smiling brightly. Sheila stood a little off to the side, unsure of herself, and Svetlana stood with her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

            Fiona said, “What’re you waitin’ for? Don’t you wanna open some presents?”

            Mickey looked around at the assembled crowd blankly and only moved when Ian patted him lightly on the back. He grabbed the first small box in front of him and shook it. Sheila immediately ran forward and grabbed it from him, shouting, “No!”

            Then she shot Mickey an apologetic look and carefully handed him the box again. “It’s fragile,” she said.

            He had serious doubts about that given that it hadn’t sounded like anything had broken, but he knew why the second he ripped through the floral wrapping paper. The cardboard box inside was covered in a thick layer of packing tape to the point where the word “cardboard” was really just a guess. Ian ran to the kitchen to get a knife and Mickey stabbed the box, wincing at Sheila’s next protest.

            She took the box from him and said, “How about I just unwrap this one?”

            “Sure,” Mickey said.

            And everyone watched as Sheila started painstakingly unwrapping the tape from the tiny box. After a minute, she said, “Go on. I’ll get there.”

            “Okay...” Mickey said. He looked back at his assorted guests, still a little off kilter from the unexpected surprise. He wondered absently how much longer some of the stuff he’d bought could be out of the fridge before it went bad. He grabbed the next gift, a box much bigger than the first, and ripped open the paper.

            A box with a picture of a stroller stared back at him and Debbie quickly said, “It’s not actually a stroller.”

            Mickey opened the bottom of the box and a flurry of tissue paper fluttered to the ground. Ian laughed as Mickey spat at it, having leaned his head too close to the opening of the box. He dug his hand inside and pulled out the paper until his hand hit around a metal rod. He pulled and out came a folded up baby gate.

            “Svet said it’d be a lifesaver,” Debbie said.

            “Thanks.”

            Debbie nodded and then Mandy shoved another present at him. He took the small box and said, “Am I gonna need a knife for this one too?” A couple of people laughed and Mandy shook her head. Mickey tore into the wrapping paper –newspaper this time– and took out a small rubber duck.

            He held it up to show Mandy with a questioning look.

            She shrugged. “You told me it always went to the youngest Milkovich. And that’s no longer me.”

            Mickey smiled at her and set the duck down on the couch between him and Ian. Ian immediately picked it up, smiling, and asked, “You have baths with this thing?” Mickey snorted and Ian knocked their shoulders together. “Come on. Tell me.”

            “You get off picturing me all soapy with a duck, Gallagher?”

            Ian threw the duck in his face and Mickey laughed, gesturing for someone to give him the next present. Vee tossed a big box his way and it sloshed. He shot her a look.

            “Breast milk,” she said. “You’re gonna need it.”

            He smirked and shook his head.

            Fiona handed him the last present on the table. A bag stuffed with clothing, not even covered with tissue paper. “All the baby clothes we have left over in the house,” she said. “And like hell if we’ll be using them any time soon,” she added, throwing a warning glance at Debbie.

            Ian started rifling through the clothes and finally pulled out a tiny baseball uniform. “Aww, c’mon, you really think she’s gonna be a Socks fan?” Mickey groaned.

            Everyone in the room looked at him. And he stared back at them, unsure of what he had said that was out of line. Unsure until Ian asked breathlessly, “She?”

            Mickey opened his mouth to reply and then immediately closed it. “SHE?” Ian yelled, a smile spreading across his lips. Mickey shrugged, trying his best not to smile himself. Ian dipped his head down to Mickey’s belly and kissed the skin quickly. “A little girl.” He looked back at Mickey with shining eyes. “We’re gonna have a daughter.”

            “Lord help her,” Vee said.

            Everyone laughed.

            Then Sheila exclaimed, “Got it!” and produced a porcelain teapot from an encasement of bubble wrap. She turned it around so they could see the wiring and said, “It’s a nightlight. In case she gets scared.”

            “Thanks,” Mickey said, taking it from her carefully. Ian’s hands were still warm against his belly and he turned the teapot over with his fingers, so cautiously that Sheila didn’t even make a move to grab it from him. They all sat there for a while longer before moving on to cake and conversation and it was a long time before everyone left, stepping over the spoiled groceries Mickey had dropped on his way in.


	5. In Labour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: please write mickey having the baby. Like long labor, contractions, breaking water, holding Ian's hand. Please I would give you my firstborn. -mpreg anon. And can them be other pregnant males in the hospital unit (in labor like mickey)?

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Mickey grumbled. Wet sheets clung to his exposed skin and he burried his head into his pillow. Pressure on his bladder was so constant at this point that he couldn’t even tell when he needed to pee anymore.

            He shifted out of the ruined sheets and mumbled a curse.. His feet hit the ground and a realization hit him. He didn’t have to pee. At all. He had gotten up an hour ago and sleepwalked into the bathroom.

            He shook Ian, hard. Ian grumbled in his sleep and rolled over. Right into the puddle. He froze. . He said, “Mickey... please tell me this isn’t what I think it is...”

            “I think my water broke.”

            Ian propped his chin up on the mattress. One of his blue-green eyes opened and he stifled a yawn. “You think what?”

            “My water broke.”

            “Your...”

            Realization flickered through Ian’s eyes and a second later he was on his feet. He pulled on a pair of pajama pants, threw a pair of pregnancy jeans at Mickey, and grabbed a large green duffel bag from the corner of the room. He walked around the bed and offered his hand to Mickey.

            Mickey stared at him. “Don’t wanna put on a shirt there, tough guy?”

            “No time.”

            “Think we got time for a shirt.”

            Ian rolled his eyes and pulled Mickey up off the bed. Mickey groaned as he stood and leaned against Ian. Ian shuffled the two of them towards the door and was out on the front step before he swore. Mickey gave him a look.

            “Forgot to call the cab,” he said.

            Mickey rolled his eyes as Ian dropped the duffel bag. Mickey settled down on the front step and rubbed a hand across his face. Ian scrambled through the house as he looked for his phone in the darkness of the bedroom. Hopefully he was looking for a shirt too. And maybe some underwear. And shoes.

            Ian came back fully dressed and sat down beside Mickey. He smiled apologetically. “How you doing?” he said.

            Mickey shrugged. “A’ight.” Then he groaned, pressure rumbling through his stomach, and gripped Ian’s arm. Ian gasped as the nubs of Mickey’s nails dug into his skin but stayed still until Mickey’s grip loosened. “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine,” Ian said. He checked his watch, made a mental note of the time, and looked back at his boyfriend. “Cab should be here any second.”

            Mickey nodded and settled his head onto Ian’s shoulder.

            It was going to be a long night.

***

            Mickey paced in the hospital room. Ian sat in an armchair to the side of the bed and pretended to flip through a magazine while he watched Mickey out of the corner of his eye. Mickey had his hands on his back and his head turned to the sky. He counted the black dots on the ceiling. Ian tapped his foot and checked his watch.

            “Maybe you should sit down,” Ian said.

            Mickey rolled his eyes. “It’s not comin’, Ian.”

            “It’s been almost twenty minutes.”

            “Which is how I know it’s not coming.”

            The two glared at each other for a long moment before pain rolled through Mickey. He nearly doubled-over and he reached blindly for the end of the bed. Ian sighed, flicked the magazine away, and got to his feet. He grabbed Mickey’s arm with a roughness that betrayed his casual facade and guided Mickey back to the bed.

            Mickey sat down, batted Ian away, and took deep breaths. Ian mimed the proper breathing technique. Mickey ignored him and breathed as he pleased, despite the pain..

            When the contraction ended, Ian raised an eyebrow at him. Mickey pushed his boyfriend away and stood. He continued to pace. Ian relaxed back into the armchair and started to read one of the articles in the magazine. _How to Get a Beach Body in Only Three Months_.

            A nurse walked into the room, dressed in pink, and smiled at both of them. “How are you boys doing?” she said.

            “Twenty minutes apart. Last fifteen, maybe twenty seconds,” Ian said.

            “If you trust his Scooby-doo watch,” Mickey said.

            The nurse gestured for Mickey to sit down. She checked his dilation and said, “You’re at two centimetres. Still have a while to go. How are you doing with the pain?”

            Mickey snorted. “No worse than gettin’ shot.”

            “Expect that to change,” she said.

            He glared at her as she left the room and then stood. “The fuck’s she know?”

            “It’s her job.”

            “Fuck off.”

            Ian looked back at the magazine.

            “I’m going for a walk,” Mickey said.

            He headed out of the room without waiting for a response.

            Quietly busy halls greeted him. The nurses checked charts and exchanged papers as they walked from room to room. Doctors lounged near the nurses’ station and only moved when they were called. Mickey searched the crowd for his own doctor, but couldn’t find him among the crowd.

            He hauled his enormous stomach down the hall. He had always considered himself strong before he had started carrying around a little ball of fat with him every step of the day, but now he was sure he could beat Superman in a fight.

            He peeked into a couple of rooms as he went. A blonde woman used perfect breathing technique and stared at the ceiling. Her girlfriend sat by her side. She rubbed the pregnant woman’s hand with her thumb. Three generations of mothers stood over a twenty year-old girl in the next room. She stared glassily back at them. In the last room, a married couple stared into each other’s eyes and the guy coached the girl through her contraction.

            Mickey rolled his eyes and looked away. He managed to step to the side just short of colliding with another pregnant man. The man smiled and said, “You’re husband driving you crazy too?”

            Mickey smirked. “He keeps telling me to sit down.”

            “Eat your ice chips.”

            “Just relax.”

            “There’s plenty of time.”

            The two of them laughed and the man offered his hand. “Jacob,” he said.

            “Mickey.” He grabbed his hand and shook.

            “They’re playing football reruns in the waiting room,” Jacob said. “You in?”

            Mickey nodded and followed him down the hall.

***

            Ninety minutes later, Mickey lumbered back into his hospital room. Ian turned on him whip-quick and said, “Where the hell have you been?”

            “Watching football,” Mickey said. “Then Mandy stopped by, Svetlana... I think Mandy said Fiona was gonna be here as soon as her shift finished.” He paused and said, “You know it’s nearly lunch time? We’ve been here like twelve hours. Man, I’m starving.”

            “You’ve been gone for hours.”

            “Fuck off with the dramatics.”

            “You’re fucking pregnant, Mick. You’re having a baby. You can’t just wander off and do whatever the hell you want. The nurses were lookin’ for you. Your doctor was looking for you. And I had no idea where the hell you were!”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and slumped down onto the bed. He looked up at the ceiling. “No big deal, Ian. There were some nurses wandering in and out in case anything happened to us.”

            “Us?”

            “Me and this guy.”

            “You met a guy while you’re having my baby?”

            Mickey laughed. He turned his head on the pillow to look at Ian and smirked. “You jealous, Gallagher? Me and another nine month pregnant man gettin’ it on bother you?”

            Ian rolled his eyes.

            “Sex makes the baby come faster.”

            Ian snorted and stepped away as Mickey reached for him. He crossed his arms. “That’s before labour starts, shithead.”

            “You mad at me?”

            Ian shrugged. “Until your next contraction.”

            “Masochist.”

            “Sadist.”

            “Show off.”

            Ian took Mickey’s hand in his and kissed his tattooed knuckles. “You can’t wander off for ninety minutes without telling me,” Ian said.

            “You’re lucky I didn’t leave the hospital,” Mickey said. “I’m craving McDonalds.”

            “You can’t eat anything.”

            “Fuck that. Go steal me some fries.”

            “No.”

            “Come on,” Mickey groaned. He raised his eyebrows at Ian. “Come on, Gallagher. You afraid of getting caught? Afraid of the shame of stealing hospital food?”

            “Afraid you’ll choke to death when your bony hips can’t squeeze out a baby and they have to stuff a tube down your throat.”

            “You’re no fun.”

            Ian laughed and leaned forward to kiss Mickey on the forehead. But Mickey was too quick for him and darted up to kiss him on the lips. He wrapped a hand around the back of Ian’s neck and pulled him closer. He coaxed Ian’s mouth open and licked across his tongue. Ian struggled in his grasp, smiled under the pressure of the kiss, and nearly fell onto Mickey.

            “Come on, Gallagher.” Mickey tried to sound husky but ruined the effect with his laughter. “Fuck this baby out of me.”

            Ian climbed half onto the bed. He kissed Mickey and shoved him over so he could lie down on the bed too. Mickey’s massive belly kept them far apart as Ian slowed the kiss into short pecks.

            “Our baby’s first word is gonna be ‘fuck’, isn’t it?”

             “Fuck yeah it is.”

            Ian groaned and tried to turn away, but Mickey kissed him again. Mickey’s fingers dipped under Ian’s shirt and played across his cold abs. If only Ian hadn’t put on a shirt. Ian stopped struggling and sunk into the kiss. He pressed his warm hands to Mickey’s neck.

            Someone cleared their throat.

            Ian pulled back first and scrambled off the bed. Red and swollen lips marred his face. Mickey turned over to look up at the nurse at the door. He shifted into position with a sigh and the nurse checked his dilation. Four centimetres.

            “Is this normal?” Ian said.

            The nurse smiled. “The first labour is always the longest. Don’t worry. You’ll get there.”

            Ian nodded and she left the room. Then he headed over to the door and locked it. He looked back at Mickey and said, “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

            He leaped back onto the bed and kissed Mickey. Mickey was too big for Ian to straddle him, but he tried. He wobbled from side to side as he did. Mickey laughed around the kisses. Ian guided their lips together with his hands on Mickey’s cheeks and lost his balance.

            He fell onto the floor and Mickey laughed. A contraction rolled through him. He gasped out a scream and Ian’s fingers twisted around his.

            “Breathe,” Ian said. He kneeled beside the bed. “Breath. Come on. You know this. Hoo-hoo, hee-hee.”

            Mickey groaned, tried to roll his eyes, and failed.

            “Hoo-hoo, hee-hee.”

            Mickey copied Ian’s breathing and the pain ebbed. The contraction ended and he stared at Ian. Ian offered him a thin smile.

            “Still no worse than getting shot?” he asked.

            “Fuck you.”

***

            Mandy knocked at the half-open door to Mickey’s room. He made a non-committal noise and she stepped in. She glanced both ways like she expected someone to jump out at her. She kept one hand behind her back and Mickey raised an eyebrow at her.

            “Ian here?” she said.

            He shook his head.

            “Good.”

            She took the hand from behind her back and produced a cup of blue raspberry flavoured slush. Sitting down at the end of the bed, she handed it over to Mickey along with a plastic spoon and said, “Where is he?”

            “Hmm?” Mickey scooped gooey slush into his mouth. The slushie tasted like a mix between horse manure and cloves, but after eighteen hours of labour it might as well have been ambrosia.

            “Ian,” Mandy prodded.

            “Bathroom.”

            Mickey polished off the slushie. He handed it back to her and she twirled the spoon between her fingers.

            “How many centimetres?” she said.

            “Six, seven,” Mickey said. He shrugged. “Little girl’s a fighter.”

            Mandy smiled. “Any names?”

            “Thinking of naming her after her favourite aunt,” Mickey said. He chucked her on the chin.

            “Fiona?”

            Mickey laughed. “Debbie.”

             “Already making decisions for her, are we?”

            He smirked and rested his head back against his pillows.

            She ran a hand down the side of his face. “You doing all right?” she asked. “You know it’s not a sign of weakness to ask for some painkillers.”

            “I’ve gotten a bullet taken out of my ass with vodka and a wooden spoon.”

            “You want a wooden spoon?”

            He rolled his eyes and the door to the room opened. Mandy jumped off of the bed. Mickey wiped at his face and smiled. Ian looked between the two of them.

            “For hardened criminals, the two of you really suck at covering things up.”

            “Yeah?” Mandy said. “Prove it.”

            “Prove what?”

            She spread her arms. The plastic spoon toppled out of the cup. “What were we doing that was so bad?”

            Ian plucked the cup out of her hand and ran his finger around the inside. He sucked on his finger. Taking it out with a pop, he pointed at Mandy and said, “You’re telling me that if I go over there and kiss Mick, he won’t taste like blue raspberry?”

            “I would bet my life on it.”

            Ian shook his head at her. “Sure, Mandy.”

            “Try me.”

            He winked. “I’ll take your word for it.” He tossed the cup into the trash and sat down in his armchair.

            The two Milkoviches shared a glance. Mandy shrugged and walked out of the room.

***

            “That is ten centimetres,” the nurse said. She stepped away with a smile. “We’re going to move you to delivery, Mr. Milkovich.”

            “Fucking finally.”

            She dipped her head and headed out of the room.

            Mickey glanced towards Ian. Dark circles had formed under Ian’s eyes. He smiled weakly at Mickey and squeezed his hand. Mickey kissed his knuckles.

            “You ready to be a father?” Mickey said.

            “I’m ready to get out of this fucking hospital.”

            Mickey laughed. “Oh, Gallagher. That won’t be for days.”

            The nurses started to roll Mickey’s bed away and Ian scrambled to keep up. Mickey squeezed his hand hard and used the proper technique to breathe as a contraction rolled through him. Ian’s bones crunched and he hoped to god that Mickey hadn’t broken any.

            They rolled him into the delivery room and a nurse pulled Ian away to wash up. Mickey watched him through the window. His breath was heavy and he started to panic. His eyes locked with Ian’s and Ian gave him an encouraging smile through the glass as everyone scrubbed up.

            His doctor walked into the room with a smile and pulled on plastic gloves. “Here we go, Mickey,” he said. “This is the hard part. You ready?”

            “I haven’t slept or eaten in a day and you got my boyfriend waiting outside like he’s missin’ his ticket,” Mickey snapped. His eyes flashed towards the doctor. “You think I’m ready?”

            “Ian will be in in a moment, Mickey,” the doctor said. He settled onto a metal stool and rolled in between Mickey’s legs. He smiled. “Take a deep breath. On the next contraction, we’re going to push.”

            “ _I’m_ going to push,” Mickey corrected.

            Ian walked in, saving Mickey from the doctor’s reply, and walked up to the bed. He took Mickey’s hand and squeezed tightly. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Mick,” Ian said. “You believe me?”

            “You got a baby comin’ outta you?”

            Ian smiled and leaned in to kiss him. He murmured, “Maybe you can put one in me next.”

            Mickey laughed and batted him away. “Fuck off.”

            The next contraction came and Mickey pulled him in closer. He squeezed Ian’s hand like a lifeline. The doctor yelled, “PUSH!” and Mickey tried to breathe through it.

            The doctor shook his head. “I’m gonna need you to push harder on the next one, Mickey.”

            Mickey glared at him, breathing hard. “I’m doing my best, asswipe.”

            “Do better.”

            “How about you don’t fuck with my boyfriend while he’s pushing out a baby?” Ian said.

            The doctor gave Ian a look. “What’s gonna work better on him? Placation or a challenge?” Ian was silent. The doctor looked back at Mickey. “I need to see the baby’s head on this push. Otherwise we’re gonna be in here as long as you were in that other room. You got that?”

            “Fuck oOOFFFF!” Mickey’s voice rose to a screech as the next contraction ran through him. He pushed hard, his face screwing up, and the doctor smiled.

            “There we go!” he exclaimed. “You got this, Mickey. Next one, just a little bit—”

            The doctor shut up as Mickey pushed and the baby came screaming into the world. Mickey winced at the sound as the doctor handed the little girl over to a nurse and Ian said, “She’s got your scream.”

            Mickey elbowed him in the stomach and Ian attempted a laugh. He leaned down and kissed his boyfriend on the head. He ran a hand through Mickey’s sweat-soaked hair. Mickey’s eyes were on the baby girl. The nurses washed her at a table three feet away.

            One of the nurses brought over the baby and settled her into Mickey’s arms.

            Mickey eyes glistened with tears. Ian kissed him and then kissed the bald head of their baby girl. Mickey nuzzled her soft stomach. His arms shook, but he tried his best to bring himself under control so he wouldn’t jar her.

            “You should get some sleep, Mickey,” the doctor said.

            Mickey looked up at the doctor’s outstretched hands and shook his head. He cradled the baby closer to his chest and said, “She doesn’t leave my sight.”

            Ian ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll be with me.” He met Mickey’s eyes and nodded reassuringly. “I won’t let her out of my sight. Promise.”

            Mickey nodded and handed the baby off to Ian. Ian cradled her in his arms, bouncing her up and down softly until her screaming subsided. Mickey’s eyes drifted closed and the doctor offered Ian a bottle.

***

            Mickey laid on his side. His baby girl slept beside him on the hospital bed. She was supposed to sleep in the little crib just beyond the bed, but the distance drove Mickey crazy. She gurgled in her sleep, comfortable on her back.

            At least she took after Ian in that.

            A soft knock sounded on the door and Ian stepped in. He offered Mickey a small smile and whispered, “Hey.”

            “Hey,” Mickey replied. “The cavalry out there?”

            Ian winced. “Yeah.”

            “Let ‘em in.”

            Ian stepped through the door and the rest of the Gallaghers followed after him. Mickey scooped the baby up in his arms and shifted into a sitting position. Ian shushed his siblings as they ran in, but the Gallaghers carried their own brand of white noise with them wherever they went.

            “She’s beautiful,” Fiona whispered.

            “Can I hold her?” Liam said.

            “Looks like a potato,” Carl said.

            “All babies look like potatoes,” Debbie said. She glanced at Mickey and added, “A beautiful potato, though.”

            “You got a name yet?” Mandy asked. She looked down at her niece with a smile and bent her fingers in a wave.

            Mickey swallowed and looked at Ian, who nodded. Mickey shifted slightly on the bed and said, “Yeah. We got a name.” He looked around at the assorted family and waited until they quieted. Only Carl looked uninterested at the prospect of a name. “Valeria.”

            The group was silent. Then Mandy asked, “Mom’s name?”

            “Yeah.”

            Mandy nodded. “I like it.”

            Mickey smiled and the silence of the room broke. He shooed them from the room in an attempt to keep Val asleep for as long as possible before her next feeding and Ian closed the door behind them. He sat beside Mickey on the bed and looked down at their daughter.

            “We did good, Gallagher,” Mickey said.

            Ian nodded. “Very good.”

            The two of them sat there staring down at their little girl until a nurse came in with a bottle. Mickey woke Val carefully, guided her mouth towards the bottle, and smiled as she started to drink.

            “I love you,” Ian said.

            Mickey looked up at him. “I love you too.”

            “I was talking to her.”

            Mickey laughed. “Yeah, well, I love her more than I love you anyways.”

            Ian pecked Mickey on the lips. Val started to cry.


	6. Gymboree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: write about Mickey seeing Jacob again and maybe becoming friends?

Mickey stopped outside of the Gymboree for a moment to collect himself. He stared at his reflection in the window. His stubble-roughened cheeks, puke-stained t-shirt, ill-fitting jeans, and the toddler strapped to his back. The crying toddler.

            “Val,” he said, his voice turning to a whine. Her cry matched his tone of voice and he swore. Then he swore again, remembering Ian had asked him not to swear in front of their child. Or at least not while she was learning to speak.

            He cursed under his breath as she kept crying and walked into the Gymboree. A cheery receptionist greeted him, a plastic smile plastered onto her face. Val’s crying seemed to echo through the lobby. No. It wasn’t just her crying. It was dozens of other kids as well.

            Fan-fucking-tastic.

            “Yeah, hey,” Mickey said. He stepped up to the counter and unstrapped Val’s carrier. He set it down on top of the desk. Gesturing to his daughter, he said, “I’m here to drop Valeria Milkovich off for her... whatever the fuck it’s called.”

            The woman blinked at his language, but said nothing. Her smile didn’t even falter. “Ian usually comes by with Val.”

            “He’s busy.”

            “So he didn’t tell you that you stay with her? Parents and children work together here.”

            Mickey stared at the receptionist. He had half a mind to ask if she was fucking joking. But he stopped himself with a sigh and said, “Fine. Where do I go?”

            She pointed through the glass door to an overly bright, primary-coloured room lined with thick foam puzzle pieces. Mickey walked in reluctantly, holding Val’s carrier by the handle. As soon as he was through the door, she struggled to get free and he set down the carrier to let her out. She tilted out and crawled out onto the foam. Mickey smiled.

            Then he dropped his stuff in a blue cubby by the door and stood awkwardly to the side. He could see Val from where he stood. She was climbing on top of a large foam block –one nearly bigger than she was. He was sure that if Ian was here he would have grabbed her, rushed over to stop her from falling, but the floor was _foam_ for fuck’s sake. She would be fine if she fell.

            “Mickey?”

            Mickey turned at the voice and saw a brown-haired man behind him. He looked vaguely familiar and was carrying a baby about the same age as Val dressed head to toe in blue. A boy, apparently.

            Mickey grunted in response.

            “Jacob,” the man said. “We met in the hospital?”

            “Right,” Mickey said, even though it took him a moment longer to place him as the guy he had met while they were both in labour. Jacob set down his kid and the little guy went straight for Val and the two blubbered at each other in gibberish. “He’s not talkin’ yet either?”

            “Not supposed to for another eight-ish months, right?” Jacob shrugged. He looked between Mickey and Val, watching Mickey’s eyes. “So Ian’s your husband?”

            “Boyfriend,” Mickey corrected. He bristled as he did so. Like he always did. But he was no longer sure it was because of the stigma of not being married or because he had accidentally used the word “husband” himself a couple times. Much to Ian’s amusement.

            “Still. Good catch.”

            Mickey snorted. “You can have him.”

            Jacob laughed. “Not sure Alex would like that.”

            Mickey grunted.

            “So how come Ian’s not here?”

            “Working a double.”

            “What?

            Mickey glanced over at Jacob, at the confused look on his face, and quickly tried to remember what Ian had told him about Gymboree. He always zoned out during those conversations. Not that he didn’t like hearing about how advanced Val was. Just that he preferred to keep her safe in their home, safe from the world, and keep himself the fuck away from other people and their fucking kids.

            “Late,” Mickey corrected when the lie came back to him. “Working late.”

            “Doing what?”

            “Grading papers.”

            Jacob cocked an eyebrow. “For third grade?”

            Mickey shrugged. “State essay contest.”

            The two of them were silent for a long moment, staring at each other. Mickey made the challenge clear in his eyes, daring the other man to doubt his statement. There had to be a state essay contest, right? And if not, what self-respecting adult without a third-grader would even know if there was one?

            Jacob pursed his lips and then popped the air in his mouth. “We both know Ian’s a dancer, right?”

            Mickey laughed. “He tell you?”

            “God no. But I’ve been to too many bachelor parties at the _Fairy Tale_ not to recognize him.”

            “Keep your eyes off my man.”

            “You said I could have him.”

            Mickey smirked. “Changed my mind.”

            A woman walked into the centre of the room and called the class to order. Jacob started to the centre to grab his son, so Mickey followed in kind, picking Val up off the floor then swooping her through the air like an airplane. She giggled as he tucked her into his arms and kissed the soft red hair on top of her head.

            The teacher started the class and Mickey tried his best to follow. Given that it was mostly free-form –and probably a fucking waste of money too– he got most of it. Like the other parents, he mostly just kept an eye on Val as she wandered and saved her if she went too far. He refused to sing the song at the end of class. Flat out refused. That is, until Val started crying.

            Mickey packed up their stuff slowly. Val hung onto his leg as he shifted the bags and she looked up at him with bright blue eyes. Jacob came up beside him and set his son down on top of the cubbies as he grabbed his stuff.

            “What’s the kid’s name?” Mickey asked.

            Jacob blinked, momentarily confused. Then he seemed to remember that Mickey wasn’t Ian and that he never came to these things. “Bobby.”

            Mickey swallowed his outward response to how terrible he found that name. Instead, he said, “Oh, so he’s the little shit that’s been flirting with my little girl?” He eyed the toddler and then put up his fists. He faked two quick punches at the kid. “You mess with her, you mess with me. You hear?”

            “And Ian says you never listen to him.”

            Mickey looked at Jacob out of the corner of his eye. “And I guess you’re the asshole Ian complains about me to?”

            Jacob shrugged. “Guilty.”

            “Then how about we try it the other way around and I complain about Ian this time.”

            “Coffee?”

            Mickey nodded and picked up his stuff. He gathered Val off of the floor and watched lovingly as she waved in the direction of Bobby. _Bobby._ If his future son-in-law was named Bobby...

***

            “She eats strained peas,” Mickey said.

            “Ian says she won’t.”

            “Yeah, ‘cause Ian tries to feed her straight strained peas and they look like the Grinch mashed into a fine stew. You gotta play with the colours. Give ‘em something else to look at while they eat that shit.”

            Jacob considered his words, then nodded. He glanced over at Bobby, as he did every few seconds as they talked. The two toddlers were sitting in high-chairs. Val was fast asleep, sucking on her thumb. Bobby stared at the coffee in front of his dad.

            “You know,” Jacob said, “she looks a lot like you.”

            Mickey shook his head. “She’s mostly Ian.”

            “A good mix.”

            Mickey nodded and couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes off of his little girl. He almost wanted to wake her up, but that was the only rule of Ian’s he would never break. Never wake a sleeping baby. Even if they’re not technically a baby anymore.

            “You and Ian do this?” Mickey asked suddenly. He didn’t know where the spark of panic in his chest had come from. He looked back at Jacob, scanned his dark eyes, and decided the other man wasn’t bad-looking. Not his type. Not really Ian’s type either. But Ian’s type was geriatrics, so who could really say. “Drink coffee after?” he clarified.

            “Nah,” Jacob said. “He tries to get home to you as soon as possible.”

            “After he shits on me all class long.”

            “He mostly finds your bad habits endearing.”

            “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

            Jacob studied him for a second. “You two’ve been together, what? Eight, nine years I take it? You live together, you’ve got a kid together, and you don’t know how stupidly in love with you he is?”

            Mickey stared at him. His whole body suddenly froze.

            “Why aren’t you married?”

            Mickey shrugged. “He never asked.”

            “Maybe he’s waiting for you to.”

            “Why the fuck would he?” Mickey snapped. He winced at his own words and looked over at his sleeping daughter. Not because of his swearing. Because of the volume. He half-hoped she would have the mouth of a trucker and a right hook to back it up. “Not like he’s done anything else.”

            Jacob shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, avoiding the question. Mickey stayed silent, bristling with the thoughts wandering through his mind. Him. Propose. Like he had to do everything in the fucking relationship.

            Jacob changed the subject and Mickey let him. He spun his empty coffee cup on the table.

***

            Mickey got home late. Too late. He felt oddly drunk, even though he had only drank coffee. Val was awake in the carrier, blubbering and crying and making a racket that shot through Mickey’s skull. He shut the door too loudly, unaware that Val’s voice didn’t have the ability to wake up Ian.

            Ian poked his head out of their bedroom, rubbing his eyes. He covered a yawn. “Where were you?” he asked.

            “Doesn’t look like you were too worried.”

            “Baby’s gone, I’m not on work, I’m asleep. You know that.”

            Mickey nodded. He set the carrier down on the ground and hoisted Val out of it. She struggled, but eventually rested down against his shoulder, muttering unhappy gibberish. He whispered unintelligible words to her as he approached Ian.

            “Where were you?” Ian asked again. “It’s late.”

            “Coffee.”

            “She’s not old enough.”

            The joke fell flat. Mickey looked up at Ian who held out his hands to take Val. He let him and Ian started to rock her back and forth gently.

            “How was Gymboree?”

            “Fine.”

            “Who’d you go to coffee with?”

            “Jacob.”

            “You know he’s a bottom?”

            Mickey almost laughed. Almost. The flare of panic he had felt before came back as he looked at Ian looking down at their daughter. The little girl who had so graciously taken over their lives in the last ten months. Mickey placed his hand on top of her head and Ian looked up at him.

            “Hey. Joke.”

            “Yeah,” Mickey whispered. He looked back at Ian, at the sea-green eyes he had known and loved for years on end. “Why aren’t we married?” he blurted.

            “What?”

            He would give Ian credit. For being blindsided, he remained incredibly calm. His rocking didn’t skip a beat. His voice stayed low, quiet in the night. But his eyes were wide in the darkness, scared. Why, Mickey had no fucking clue.

            “Marry me,” Mickey said. The panic was back. Hot in his chest. Pounding hard against his ribs. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Ian.

            “What?” Ian repeated.

            Mickey got down on one knee. It was the only thing he could think of to make it more clear. And he looked up at the man holding his baby, the man he loved, and he smiled. The streetlights caused awkward shadows to light the room, but Mickey didn’t need light to know what Ian looked like. Bed-rumpled, sleep-deprived, and wholly, undeniably gorgeous.

            “Ian Gallagher,” he said softly. He watched Ian swallow. “Fucking marry me.”

            There was a pause. Then Ian nodded spastically. A tear dripped from his eye and he awkwardly tried to pull Mickey off the ground while still holding Val. Mickey scrambled to his feet and kissed Ian roughly, their lips barely touching. Val squirmed in between them, no longer at rest because of their quiet racket. Mickey swallowed a laugh as he looked from her to Ian.

            “If she keeps me up all night, I swear to god,” Ian whispered. His voice was strained between annoyance and desperate happiness.

            Mickey kissed him again. “I’ll put her down. Go back to sleep.”

            Ian handed Val over and watched as Mickey walked into the next room.

            Mickey approached the white crib, scraped in places and covered with crayon notes from all of the Gallaghers and some of the Milkoviches. He set Val down carefully in the ratty cushions and had to stop her from rolling onto her stomach.

            “Your daddies are getting married,” he whispered. He leaned against the rail of the crib, his chin against his arms. She stared up at him, showing no signs of fatigue. “Let me tell you the story of how we met. Once upon a time...”

            He settled into telling the tale, watching his daughter in the darkness, and forgot that his fiancé waited for him in the next room.


	7. Pickles & Frosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you do one about the gross parts of being pregnant like the weight gain, cravings, attitude, constipation and so on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where chronology just stops being a thing. Like I said, prompts.

“What are you eating?”

            Mickey looked up at Ian from his spot on the kitchen floor. Okay. So maybe he wasn’t the most Cinderella-esque picture in the world, but he certainly didn’t warrant the look on Ian’s face. The look that said “what are you eating?” was the most pleasant question he could come up with. Because otherwise he might have said, “what are you wearing”, “why are you sitting on the floor?”, or, Mickey’s personal favourite, “how long have you been wearing those sweatpants?”. And, unfortunately for Ian, the answer to all of those questions was, “fuck you.”

            “Pickles and icing,” Mickey mumbled. He crunched on a pickle. It was sickly-sweet and its juice contrasted nicely with the cream cheese icing he’d dipped it in. Ian pressed his lips together to stop himself from vomiting. Ian had a weak stomach. They had learned that during the first couple weeks of Mickey’s pregnancy when he had been bent over the toilet, puking his guts out, and Ian had to leave the house so he wouldn’t get sick himself.

            “You want me to make you something else?” Ian asked.

            “Nope.”

            “That can’t be healthy.”

            Mickey shrugged. “It’s what the little fucker wants.”

            “It can hear you.”

            He shrugged again. Bit into the pickle. The fucker would hear much worse once its ears weren’t muffled by the uneven swell of his belly. Much, much worse. Especially if it insisted on screaming all night long while Mickey was trying to sleep. As it was, the baby already kicked all night long, which was why Mickey was on his butt on the kitchen floor eating pickles instead of curled up next to Ian. By which, of course, he meant curled up next to his big purple pillow. Even without the baby kicking, that pillow was the only way he could sleep.

            “How long have you been wearing those sweatpants?”

            “Fuck you.”

            Ian bit his bottom lip. “I’m counting eight days.”

            “I’m counting shut the fuck up.”

            Sighing, Ian dropped to the floor across from Mickey and dipped his finger in the icing. He made a face when he licked it off and Mickey knew the pickle juice had contaminated the entire container. Good. More for him. Ian said, “It’s just maybe, I don’t know...” He paused, looking for the right words, and Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. He knew what Ian was going to say. He was getting fat. Really fat. “Maybe it’s time for pregnancy clothes.”

            “No.”

            “Mick-”

            “What?” he asked. He focused on dipping his pickle in the icing, not wanting to meet Ian’s eyes, even though he knew that he should have. He should’ve been glaring at him. He should’ve said “fucking what” instead of just “what.” But he was off his game. Off everything. “I’m not going fucking pregnancy shopping like some fat asshole, a’ight?”

            “You’re not fat.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “You’re carrying a baby, Mick. You’re gonna put on some weight.”

            Mickey snorted.

            “What?” Ian asked. “It’s true.”

            “Yeah. It is. It’s the fucking baby making me fat and yet you haven’t touched me in three weeks.”

            “You haven’t wanted me to.”

            “How the fuck do you know what I want?”

            He finally looked up at Ian. At the dark circles below his sea-green eyes. The way his hand rubbed across his face, stretching his skin out, and then fell to the ground. Ian’s sigh released like a low groan, the build up of a hurricane that had been waiting for weeks. Probably more than that. Mickey was losing track of the time. He had stopped counting the days once he had stopped vomiting. Probably because after that, he had never known when it was morning anymore.

            “You wanna have sex right now?” Ian asked, finally. He looked Mickey in the eyes and shifted closer on the floor. “Because we can. Right here on this floor.”

            “Don’t be fucking disgusting.”

            “Then stop being such a bitch.”

            Mickey scoffed at him and popped the last of the pickle in his mouth. He stared at Ian as he chewed, using the motion to slow his response. It always struck him as odd the way Ian looked at him, even when he was annoyed. Ian met his eyes straight-on, as if he was worth paying attention to. He listened to every word that he said, tried to make things right, and never stopped looking at him like he was the centre of the goddamn universe.

            It was really fucking annoying.

            “This is your fault,” Mickey said.

            “What is?”

            “That I haven’t had a shit in three days.”

            Ian snorted.

            “Fuck off.”

            “Sorry.”

            “You should be,” Mickey snapped. He stared down into the nearly empty container of frosting. There was still some at the bottom, creating mountainous swirls of white snow, and he was tempted to bring it to his lips and lick the rest of it out. Pickle juice and all. Instead, he tossed it to the side. “This whole thing was a mistake.”

            “What was?”

            “Keeping the fucking baby. Thinking we could raise the fucking thing. But I did it for you. I did it because you wanted it. But me? You think I want to be fat and uncomfortable and eating pickles with icing in the middle of the goddamn night? You think this is fun for me? You get to go out and tell people about your baby and how happy you are and how everything is falling into place in your goddamn fairytale world and I have to sit here, on the kitchen floor, shut away from the world because of my huge-ass belly!”

            Ian was dead silent for a moment. Then, “You’re the one who shuts yourself off, Mick. No one’s asking you to stay in here.”

            “Yeah, right.”

            “Mick-”

            “Would you fuck off? Most people fuck off after I’m done with them.”

            Ian didn’t move. At least, he didn’t move away. He shifted closer, his hand wrapped around the back of Mickey’s neck, and he leaned their foreheads together. His breath skittered over Mickey’s face, warm in the cold night. And suddenly Mickey was crying. He had no idea where it came from or what it was about or even why. He just knew suddenly Ian was whispering sweet nothings to him and the pickle tasted bitter in his mouth and now it hurt to think of the baby not being with him. He liked the little fucker. Sometimes. When it wasn’t keeping him up at night or making him piss or puke. Yeah. He kinda liked it.

            “You wanna try going back to sleep?” Ian asked.

            Mickey nodded against his shoulder and Ian helped him to his feet. The two of them stumbled back to their bedroom, Mickey yawning, and flopped down on the bed together. Just before Mickey drifted off, he decided that tomorrow they would, in fact, go shopping for pregnancy clothes.


	8. The Trainwreck Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: mpreg fic where the Gallaghers aren't that supportive of Mickey's pregnancy and Ian's been acting off due to bipolar and Mickey's sensitive due to being really preggers and it's basically a train wreck dinner (Debbie to the rescue?)

Mickey took a deep breath as Ian knocked on the door to the Gallagher house. He was dying for Ian to ask him how he was feeling or to even just reach out and take his fucking hand. But he knew Ian had his own shit to deal with and whatever the fuck was going on in his head was fucking with his ability to take care of Mickey and Mickey needed to wait for the new meds to kick back in before he expected anything. But fuck it. All he really wanted to do was hold his boyfriend’s hand, back away from the front door, and go back to bed. Knowing Ian felt the same way was the only thing that stopped him from suggesting it.

            Liam opened the door, up on his tiptoes to reach the handle, and brightened at the sight of them. He threw his arms around Ian’s legs and Ian smiled his first genuine smile of the day. Then Liam let go, tottered over to Mickey, and hugged his legs too. “Up! Up!” he demanded. Mickey tried to grab the boy, but his belly was in the way, and soon Ian had his brother by the waist and pressed his ear to Mickey’s stomach. Liam giggled as the baby kicked against his head.

            “Hey,” Fiona said, rounding the corner. The smile on her face was strained. Ian put down Liam, who immediately ran right back into the house, and Fiona took up the doorway. “Glad you two made it. How’re you feeling?”

            Mickey’s eyes shifted to Ian, knowing Fiona was speaking to him. Ian blinked, glanced between the two of them, then said, “Yeah. Fine. Sorry.”

            Fiona smiled and pulled him into the house. Mickey followed after, shutting the door but neglecting to lock it. The only person dumb enough to break into the Gallagher’s would be looking to kill Frank and his children would be more than happy to point them in the right direction.

            Exhaling deeply, Mickey walked into the kitchen and tried not to flinch as all eyes turned towards him. Fiona having mixed feelings had been a given. After all, she was half expecting them to dump the kid on her, like every other kid born into the family had been, so Mickey didn’t really blame her for the looks she gave him sometimes or the strained smile or her constant attempts to get them to pick an adoption agency or make a plan for how they would take care of the baby when it was born. She just hoped that Liam would be the last kid she would have to raise. But the rest of the Gallaghers... that was where it got harder. Lip was still skeptical about Fiona’s ability to take care of Liam, so he eyed Mickey’s stomach like he was the one who would have to take care of Ian’s kid, hauling the baby to classes all over campus and getting Amanda to breastfeed like some fucked up midwife. Carl had lost interest around the time he realized the kid wouldn’t be old enough to play video games with until after he had thrown away most of his life behind bars. Debbie stayed silent on the issue most of the time, asked after Mickey when she could, but mostly stayed out of the way. Liam loved the baby, but Liam loved anything smaller than him that he could dream of taking care of some day.

            “You feeling okay?” Debbie asked as she stepped around him to put a gallon of milk back in the fridge. “Baby kicking?”

            Mickey attempted a smile. “Yeah. You wanna feel?”

            She shook her head and went back to cooking.

            Fiona ushered Ian to the table and Mickey followed after him. Part of him knew he needed to take care of Ian, to not let Fiona baby him like he was incompetent, but mostly he just really wanted not to be there and for Ian to know he didn’t want to be there and to not have to say anything he was feeling out loud ever again in his entire life. Was that too much to ask?

            Eventually he got up the nerve to take Ian’s hand under the table and Ian squeezed his fingers reassuringly. Mickey even got an encouraging smile out of him, half of an apology he wasn’t sure he would ever hear the rest of. Soon after, the food was on the table and the Gallaghers were digging in, stuffing their faces with everything in front of them. Ian’s finger untangled from his. He looked down at the plate of food before him. Potatoes and chicken and green beans. His stomach rolled but he picked up a fork just to be polite. The baby really fucking hated potatoes though and wasn’t all that fond of chicken. Mickey hated green beans on principle.

            “So,” Fiona said, “you guys have any plans about what you’re gonna do with the baby when it comes?”

            Mickey’s teeth clenched around a dry piece of chicken. He glanced towards Ian, who was swirling his mashed potatoes with his fork and had barely looked up at the question. Mickey swallowed. “Yeah. We’re gonna keep it.”

            “Where?”

            “Our house. Probably in one of the bedrooms. Maybe the kitchen sink.”

            The joke fell flat. The sounds of eating rapidly disappeared from the room and Mickey once again had the disconcerting feeling that every eye in the room was on him. Every eye except for Ian’s. Because Ian was fucking staring at his mashed potatoes like they held the secret of the fucking universe and couldn’t be bothered to fucking look up and help him. Which wasn’t his fault. Mickey forced himself to breathe.

            “We got a crib and some other shit. I don’t know. Ian went on a spending spree the other day.”

            Also the wrong thing to say. Fiona’s condescension immediately turned to panic as she looked over at her little brother. Her hand came down on top of Ian’s, stopping the motion of his fork, and he finally looked up. “You okay?” she asked. “You need your meds readjusted?”

            “Already did,” he replied.

            “Waiting for them to kick in,” Mickey added.

            Fiona moved her hand and swirled her own fork through her potatoes. “This is why I’m worried,” she said, and her fear turned to concern so deep Mickey’s stomach rolled again. And this time it had nothing to do with the food. “You two can barely take care of yourselves sometimes and here you are almost ready to bring a baby into this world. Your plan so far consists of having a crib and a rough idea of where to place it. And you don’t even know what your lives are gonna be like when it comes out. Ian, you could be down or up or anywhere in between, and Mick... I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing for money right now, but I doubt it’s legal.”

            “I can keep ahead of the cops.”

            “But what if you can’t? Then what happens?”

            “Then I guess the baby goes into foster care.”

            Fiona snorted. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

            “No one’s asking you to take care of it!” Mickey exclaimed. Chicken flew off his fork as he swung his arm. His hand came down on the table and the dishes rattled. “Okay, Fiona? Ian will be fine once the new meds kick in and I won’t be in jail and this baby will be loved and cared for which is more than you can say for any fucking person you raised!”

            “Excuse me?”

            “What? Is that not your issue? Do you not think I can raise a kid because of what a fucked up father I had? You had Frank. How many kids have you raised? And Monica. Are you worried Ian’s gonna be as good a parent as Monica? Because I thought we’d gotten over you trying to label him as her.”

            Fiona stared blankly at him, as did the rest of the table. But Mickey was so done with all of them watching him like some kind of animal Fiona was meant to tame. He pushed back his chair, wincing at the scraping noise is made against the floor, and got to his feet. He stalked out of the room, his hands in his hair, and paced back and forth through the living room, out of sight of the archway. Gallagher mumblings reached him, echoing through the house, but he did his best to shut them out. He couldn’t hear Ian’s voice and he wished he had caved and asked to stay home in bed, curled up under the sheets, listening to crappy music from the radio instead of walking headfirst into an ambush.

            He settled down onto the couch. He pressed the palm of his hand against his stomach, felt the baby kick against him, and tried to steady his breathing to the rhythm of the kicks. His eyes closed, the mumblings from the other room faded away, and slowly he felt the tears start to well up in his eyes.

            Someone cleared their throat. Mickey opened one blurry eye to the world and saw Debbie standing in front of him, her hands clasped. He cleared his throat too, tried to straighten on the couch and failed. “What?” he asked.

            Debbie sat down beside him, twisted her lips, and then finally said, “I’m sorry.”

            “For?”

            “Everything. I swear Fiona’s not trying to be a bitch, she’s just worried.” Debbie paused, looking at her hands. “She was worse with me. Walked me straight down to the abortion clinic, signed all the papers she needed to sign, and sat beside me until I was called in to make sure I wouldn’t run. And I guess, in the long term, it was the right choice. But I just wish it had been my choice, you know?”

            Mickey blinked. “I’m sorry.”

            She shrugged. “Old news. But she has no right to do the same thing to you. You’re an adult. You know what you’re doing.”

            Mickey stopped himself from laughing. “Tell you a secret?” She nodded. “I have no fucking clue. And if Fiona refuses to babysit ever, we’ll be screwed.”

            “You sure you want this baby?”

            “Yeah. Otherwise I would’ve gotten rid of it a long time ago.”

             “Then I think you gotta let everything Fiona says just slide right off. Because she’s gonna be a bitch about this no matter what and you’re gonna need to get thicker skin if you’re gonna survive this.”

            “You’re tellin’ me to get thicker skin?”

            “Which one of us is crying?”

            Mickey sniffed and wiped under his eyes. Sure enough, a few tears had escaped without his notice, but he just laughed. “All right,” he said. “I guess I’ll need thicker fucking skin to survive this.” He moved to go back to the kitchen, but Debbie stopped him.

            “Ian’s still trying to convince Fiona to lay off you. Give him a few more minutes.”

            He blinked. “Ian’s talking?”

            “Mostly against his will. But, yeah. Fiona got a few words outta him and then he just kinda dug in, told her to fuck off, and that he wasn’t Monica. You weren’t Frank. That neither of you were planning on dumping a baby in her lap.” Debbie shrugged. “It’s not the most convincing of speeches, but you can’t really blame him. And maybe it’ll get her to back down for a bit.”

            “I should take him home,” Mickey said. Debbie nodded. Getting to his feet wasn’t easy, but he managed to push himself out of the couch cushions and lumber over to the kitchen archway. Ian’s eyes flickered up at the movement and he stopped talking mid-sentence. “Let’s go,” Mickey said.

            “You don’t have to go,” Fiona said.

            “But we should,” Ian replied. “Thanks for dinner.” He stood, his chair falling backwards, and made his way over to Mickey. He grabbed his hand and brought his tattooed knuckles to his lips. “Sorry.”

            “No worries,” Mickey said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

            The two of them walked back out onto the frostbitten street and lumbered back to the Milkovich house. Mickey pulled Ian back into bed, turned up the radio, and listened to the static as Ian wrapped his arm around him. Cold lips pricked at the back of his neck, but given the warmth of the rest of his body, Mickey couldn’t find it in him to mind. Ian nuzzled into him, his breath warm at least, and fell asleep quickly. Mickey stayed up, feeling the baby’s kick and listening to the soft sounds of Ian’s steady breathing behind him.


	9. Batman vs. Superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mpreg Mickey and Ian fight and he fakes contractions to get Ian to stfu!

The sounds of the door unlocking and loud swearing woke Mickey. He groaned as he tried to sit up, not yet used to the giant baby belly that sunk him into the couch cushion. Grumbling swears of his own, he rolled into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. He looked up just in time to see Ian come through the door, grocery bags in hand. He dropped one of them and a smack not unlike eggs hitting linoleum sounded through the house.

            “I texted you eight times,” Ian said. He swore and kicked the bag to the side. He dumped all the bags on the kitchen table, glanced into the kitchen, then looked back at Mickey. “I thought you said you’d do the dishes.”

            “I will,” Mickey said. He yawned. “In a bit.”

            “You said before I came home.”

            “Well, who the fuck knows when you come home?”

            Ian sighed. “My schedule is on the fridge. You know when I come home.”

            “I think you’ve actually come home at the fucking right time once, Ian,” Mickey snapped. He got to his feet and stumbled over to the fridge. He jabbed his finger at Thursday. “Here we go. Says you should’ve been back... two hours ago. What the fuck are you doing at the Fairy Tale for so long, huh?”

            “I went grocery shopping. And sometimes I pick up extra hours to cover our asses because you’re too fucking lazy to do anything anymore.”

            “I’m carrying your child, asshole.”

            “Svet worked for six months of her pregnancy. And you’ve worked, what? Zero of yours?”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. Ian let the argument drop, pulled detergent out of a bag, and walked into the laundry room. About a second before he came back, Mickey winced, knowing what the other thing he had promised Ian he would do was. “You didn’t even do a load of laundry? What the fuck am I going to wear tonight, Mick?”

            “I like what you’re wearing.”

            Scoffing, Ian said, “Yeah. Fiona’s gonna be really impressed by my sequined tank top and short-shorts. Great idea, Mick. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. Fuck.” He went back to the bag of groceries and banged around the kitchen, putting things away. “Can’t you do anything anymore, Mick?’

            “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to keep it.”

            “You would’ve chickened out at a clinic.”

            “Fuck you.”

            Ian turned on him, sea green eyes blazing, and said, “If I’m not allowed to tell you to get the fuck off my back because of my meds’ side effects or bipolar or anything else that’s wrong with me, you’re not allowed to use your pregnancy as an excuse. Girls keep themselves upright and the house in order while pregnant all the fucking time. You can do it too.”

            “Yeah, well, none of them have had to carry your demon spawn,” Mickey spat. He forced himself to stand, not liking the height Ian had on him when he sat down. “I pee twenty times a day, get beat up from the inside, and the baby’s probably manic in there because it never fucking sleeps.”

            “You know what they say. When the baby’s up, you should be up. And guess what you could be doing while you’re up?”

            Mickey smirked. “The goddamn dishes?”

            Ian glared at him, his jaw crunching to the side. He shook his head and sighed loudly, the sound sending vibrations of anger through Mickey’s entire body. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask to come home to a house that shouldn’t be condemned while I’m working twelve hour shifts to make sure we keep this house and keep the lights on and that baby doesn’t get taken away from us. All I want is for you to fucking pull your weight around here, Mick.”

            “Not this again.”

            “Yes! This. Again. Because you never fucking get it, Mickey. We’re a family. A team. And I can’t do this alone just because you’re lazy as fuck when you’re pregnant.”

            Mickey shrugged. “You should’ve used a condom.”

            “Fuck you and fuck this attitude of yours. Fuck this entire fucking house. Just do the fucking dishes, Mick! Do the fucking laundry! I don’t know how many times I have to get mad at you about the same fucking thing because you’re too lazy to get off your ass and—”

            Mickey groaned, his hands going to his stomach, and stumbled back into the kitchen chair. Ian’s eyes went wide with concern, his tirade cutting off. Mickey moaned again, screwed up his face in pain, and nearly slipped off the edge of the chair. Ian’s hands were on his arms a moment later, holding him steady. He was on his knee in front of Mickey, saying, “Breathe. Come on, breathe. We did this. Hee hee hee, hoo hoo hoo.”

            “Fuck,” Mickey gasped.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I think the baby’s coming.”

            “Fuck,” Ian said. “We’re not... it’s fucking early. We don’t have anything ready. Mick. Mick, look at me. Are you okay?”

            Mickey shook his head, gripped his t-shit tight. “I’m gonna throw up.”

            Ian swore again and ran from the room. He came back from the laundry room, Liam’s Batman costume in his hand, and shoved it at Mickey. “Puke in that. I’ll... umm... call an ambulance. Right? Shit. Mick.” Ian paused and held Mickey’s face in his hands for a moment. Mickey’s whole body relaxed. “I love you. You know I love you, right?”

            Mickey nodded. “I love you too.” He leaned forward and kissed Ian. “But, seriously? Batman? Can’t I puke on Yev’s Superman costume?”

            “Superman’s better.”

            “You’re crazy.”

            “Watch it,” Ian said. His smile faltered then and he looked down at Mickey, who was no longer clutching his belly. “False alarm?” he asked.

            Mickey shrugged. “Guess so.”

            “Did you—”

            Mickey held up his hands in mock surrender and got up off of the chair. “I’m gonna do the dishes.” He turned on the sink full blast, drowning out any other protests Ian might’ve had, and dumped soap on top of the piles of dirty dishes. A minute later, he heard the washing machine start up, and soon Ian was by his side, a towel in his hand, ready to dry.


	10. Let's Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ian has a boyfriend but at a party he has sex with Mickey. Then,Mickey search Ian in a stressful way.Ian avoids him because of the boyfriend and then finds out about the pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Ian downed half a solo cup of beer like the party would be running out soon. A stupid thing to think when the party was in the Alibi and kegs were being rolled out like confetti burst from a canon at a grandstand show. He leaned back, his elbow on top of the bar, and watched the door. Jared said he would come this time, that he would make it to a party with Ian’s family after seven months of dating. He had finally run out of excuses or, as he liked to insist, his course load was finally letting off enough for him to make it down to the Southside. (Was it safe to park there? Should he take the L? What did someone wear to a bar in the _projects_?)

            The door stayed closed. Jared was already an hour and a half late and given how nervous he was about coming to the Southside, Ian was sure that had he had any intention of showing up at all, he would have shown up on Ian’s doorstep hours ago, probably wearing a suit. Ian stretched against the bar, trying to get the kinks out of his back. He’d forgotten, sleeping in the city at Jared’s apartment most nights, what it was like to sleep in his own bed. It was easier to get to sleep with the constant white noise of the Gallaghers buzzing around him, but his mattress needed a serious upgrade.

            Mickey knocked into him when he came up to the bar. Ian gave him a look, resisted rolling his eyes, and turned back to the door. “Hoping for some tail, Gallagher?” Mickey asked, a dirty smile on his lips.          Ian flipped him off and waited for him to leave. “Can’t be that easy being a fag in this neighbourhood.”

            “You done yet?” Ian asked. He met Mickey’s blue eyes, slightly unnerved by how close the other boy was standing to him. True, Ian was in front of the bar, and Mickey was leaning over said bar to fill his glass again, but their elbows kept touching and it made Ian want to vomit. “I could get Lip to kick you out.”

            Mickey laughed and took a sip of his full beer. “I’d like to see him try.”

            Ian eyed Mickey for a second, his annoyance turning to pity in a moment. He knew it was a bad idea, but he went for it anyways. What was the worst that could happen? Mickey took a swing at him? That would be nothing new. “So you’re still in the closet then?” Ian asked.

            Pure panic lit Mickey’s eyes. He sputtered on his beer, looked around the bar like he was afraid someone heard. But, in truth, Ian had barely whispered and the music pounded loud enough that Mickey could have easily pretended not to hear him at all. “What the fuck?” Mickey asked.

            Ian shrugged. “Just checking.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “You did. Remember?”

            Mickey’s glare intensified and he finally walked away. Ian’s eyes went back to the door and he settled down into a seat at the bar. His phone buzzed. Twice. Closing his eyes, Ian forced himself to take a deep breath before taking out his phone. Jared’s name came up on the caller ID, as he knew it would, and he walked through the bar into the guy’s bathroom.

            “Hey, where are you?” Ian said, picking up the phone. His heart beat dully in his chest. He knew the answer.

            “I’m still working on this paper. I’m sorry, Ian. I—”

            “Fuck you, Jared.”

            “Are you drunk?”

            Ian swallowed. “No. I’m mad. How fucking hard is it to step away from your million dollar laptop and take a goddamn train to meet my family?”

            “I lost track of time.”

            “You didn’t want to come!” Ian threw a punch into the nearest bathroom stall. Pain bit at his fist and the metal rattled. “At least have the courtesy to tell me the goddamn truth.”

            Jared sighed across the line. Ian could picture him perfectly: sitting at his white desk, laptop in front of him, one hand on his forehead, fingers curling through his brown hair. “I got caught up, okay? Med school’s a lot harder than your humanities crap and I tried to be there, Ian, I did.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “I’ll come to dinner on a weekend sometime.”

            “You always say that.”

            “Ian,” he said. His voice was low, apologetic. Fatigue worked its way through the one word, desperate and sad. It was just after one in the morning. If he really was working on a paper... Ian swore and Jared sighed again. “This weekend. Set it up with Fiona, okay?”

            Ian shook his head, all the muscles in his body tensing. “Fuck you,” he whispered. Then he hung up the phone, took another swing at the bathroom door. His knuckles were raw, but not bleeding. He shook. All of him shook. He backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, feeling the bricks catch against his shirt the whole way down.

            A moment later, the door to the bathroom banged open and Ian scrambled to his feet. He slipped, went down, and hit his tailbone hard. Mickey looked at him with something touching on concern. “You need a minute, Gallagher?”

            Ian groaned. “Fuck off.”

            “You cryin’?”

            “No,” Ian lied. He settled his head against his knees, forced himself to breathe. Then he got to his feet and stared back at Mickey. Mickey’s blue eyes always unnerved him, endless and so much kinder than the rest of the guy. Whenever Ian focussed just on Mickey’s eyes, he could pretend he cared about him. Silly, but true. And, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heat of the small room, maybe it was the fight, but he said, “Come here.”

            “What?”

            “Come here,” Ian repeated. He pushed off the wall and approached Mickey. Recognition flickered through Mickey’s eyes, but no smile came to his lips. He also didn’t back up. Ian stopped just before him, an inch of space between them. “When’d you stop listening to me?” he asked.

            Mickey stared at him, the smile missing from his lips in his eyes. “People know we’re in here.”

            Ian shrugged. “Who cares?”

            “Guess.”

            Ian leaned around him and locked the door. Then he stepped forward, his leg inbetween Mickey’s, and heard the door rattle as Mickey moved back. Their noses touched, static and electric. Mickey’s warm breath spread over Ian’s skin, arriving and disappearing in short breaths that betrayed Mickey’s confident tone. The familiarity of it all washed over Ian. Mickey, the guy in front of him, he knew. He knew what he liked. He knew how to make him scream. His heart stopped just a little whenever he took in Mickey’s scent and his whole body buzzed with the tension of the moment. A second before, he would have laughed at the idea of ever hooking up with Mickey again, but now it felt very right.

            He dipped his lips to Mickey’s, a soft kiss, a wet smack between them. Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s and shifted closer, his body and Mickey’s intertwined. The zipper of Mickey’s jeans scratched against the front of his pants, the buttons of Mickey’s shirt hard against his torso. Ian wrapped his hand around the back of Mickey’s neck and kissed him harder, waiting for Mickey to react.

            And he did react. With the kind of hunger that always made Mickey exciting, he pushed back against the pressure of Ian on top of him. His whole body tensed up, pressed against Ian’s, and fought his position against the wall. Ian held him tight, their tongues scraped together, and he grinded into Mickey. A gasp slipped from Mickey’s mouth to Ian’s.

            Ian let his lips slip from Mickey’s, down the line of his jaw. “Fuck,” Mickey whispered. “Fucking hell, Gallagher.” Ian found the spot on Mickey’s neck that tensed him up, heard Mickey grind his jaw. “Why’d we stop this again?”

            “You’re not gay, remember?”

            “Fuck you.”

            Ian pulled Mickey away from the wall, a smile on his face, and tossed him towards the sink. Mickey’s hand grasped the edges of the sink and he smiled into the mirror. Ian watched Mickey’s expression as he came up behind him, his hands landing on Mickey’s hips, then dipping under the waistband of his jeans to grab his ass. “You miss me?” Ian asked.

            “Miss you?” Mickey replied.

            Ian stepped up behind him, his hard cock against Mickey’s ass. Mickey let out a large breath, the edge of a laugh reaching the exhale. Slowly, Ian pulled down Mickey’s pants and then undid his own zipper. “You know. Miss me. Want me back.”

            “You wish, fag.”

            “Bottom.”

            Ian saw the next insult on Mickey’s lips, but took the opportunity to shut him up. No lube, always a bad idea, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Mickey groaned, winced, and finally bent over a little further to let Ian in. Ian’s fingers grazed the edges of his hips and he thrusted gently, trying to find a spot that wasn’t going to hurt Mickey, at least not too much.

            “Forgot how good this was,” Mickey mumbled.

            Ian laughed. He spread his legs, his hands on the edges of Mickey’s ass. He watched Mickey in the mirror, his lidded eyes, the small smile on his lips. “You’ve always preferred a dick in you to having yours in something.”

            “You really gonna give me a comin’ out lecture right now?”

            “Seems like the time.”

            Mickey bucked his backside, shifting back. Ian’s hands slipped around the front of Mickey’s pants, holding onto his crotch. “Do your fucking job,” Mickey murmured.

            Ian shut up with a smile and moved further into Mickey. He found his rhythm, Mickey squirming under him. He played his fingers up and down Mickey’s back. Then, right before climax, he shoved his hand down Mickey’s pants to feel his hard cock in his hand. Mickey grunted, Ian squeezed, and both of them came at the exact same moment, Ian forgetting to pull out.

            “Fuck,” Mickey said.

            Ian stepped back. “Sorry.”

            “Are you fucking kidding?” Mickey asked. He turned to Ian, shook his head, and pulled up his pants. Their eyes met, Ian suddenly sheepish in the face of the Mickey he knew before they started screwing. But Mickey softened and said, “It’s fine. Whatever. Get the fuck outta here before someone wonders what the fuck’s up.”

            “Nice to see you too, Mick,” Ian said.

            Mickey flipped him off and Ian left.

 

Three weeks later, Mickey called Ian. He paced the living room, feeling Mandy’s eyes on his back, and muttered useless curses at the ring tone. The call clicked out in the middle of the ring. “Fucker,” Mickey mumbled.

            He hit redial and got hung up on faster. Again and straight to voicemail. With a sigh, Mickey waited through Ian’s ridiculous message and said, “Hey, asshole. Call me back.”

            Mandy said, “Maybe he’s busy.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and sat down beside her on the couch. “Doubt it.”

            “You could just get an abortion. No need to tell him anything.”

            Mickey stared at her, her streaked mascara, the lipstick rubbed from her lips. The pregnancy test showing up positive had been harder on her than it had been on him. She had first-hand experience telling their dad she was pregnant and it had not gone well. Although, maybe Terry would actually kill Ian this time. That would semi-solve all their problems.

            Mickey called Ian’s number again, got voicemail, again. “Do you know where he is?” he asked.

            Mandy blinked. “I dunno. He moved to the city centre. He forgot the Southside existed. End of story.”

            “How much are abortions?”

            “Couple hundred.”

            Mickey swore. Pushing off of the couch, he mumbled something about going out for a smoke, and left the house. The Gallaghers were only three blocks down and one of them had to know where Ian was. So Mickey knocked on their door, not expecting Lip to open it.

            “Whaddya want, Mick?” Lip asked.

            “Ian here?”

            “Nope.”

            “You know where he is?”

            “You really that horny?” Lip asked. His expression was uninterested, but Mickey couldn’t help but snarl at him. Lip chewed on the end of a cigarette, his eye flicking up and down Mickey. “’Cause if you loosened up a bit, I’m sure you could find any number of guys willing to fuck you.”

            “Would you shut the fuck up before I make you?” Mickey snapped. Lip nearly laughed at him and Mickey’s hands curled into fists. “Just tell me where the fuck your brother is.”

            “Dorms. Don’t know what building, don’t really care.” Then Lip slammed the door in Mickey’s face.

            Mickey went back home and was greeted by the sight of most of his lovely family. Mandy had left the living room, probably for her own safety since the rest of their brothers were cleaning guns at the kitchen table.

            “Who’s got the car keys?” Mickey asked.

            Iggy looked up at him. “Why?”

            “None of your business.”

            Iggy shrugged and tossed him the keys.

            A forty minute drive through Chicago traffic was not what Mickey had in mind for his afternoon. But since lying on the couch watching TV probably would’ve gotten him shot, it was at least something to do. He parked in one of the school lots and spent twenty minutes looking for a main office of some kind. No luck.  

            However, he did manage to make a big enough racket that a couple of kids stopped to talk to him. “You know a kid named Ian?” he asked. “Gallagher. Big redheaded fag.”

            One of the girls in the group winced and a guy crossed his arms at Mickey’s language, but he made no move to apologize. He wasn’t going to be intimidated into being politically correct by a bunch of underage college kids who had never seen the inside of a prison cell. “Well?” he asked.

            “Don’t know him.” Then the kids kept walking.

            Mickey was tempted to swear at them, but he kept walking. He remembered hearing Mandy say something about Ian’s major being Psychology. So he started asking people where the Psych building was and eventually got directed towards a large, stone building three stories tall. And no fucking way was he about to walk through all of that.

            He pulled out his phone and dialed Ian’s number again. Voicemail. He didn’t know why he had expected anything fucking different. “Hey, fuckhead. Answer your goddamn phone would you?” Then he paused, watched people walking by him give him dirty looks. He flipped a few of them off. “Look, I need to talk to you. I’m at your school. Just call me the fuck back.” He hung up the phone and turned towards the building. Three floors. Maybe the exercise would kill the fucking baby.

            Mainly empty classrooms greeted him. A couple were filled with people, but none of them seemed to hold Ian. He paced each floor twice before coming back out the front doors and starting to walk through campus again. Hands in his pocket, his breath white in the air, he had half a mind to freeze himself to death out here and let Ian find his dead body. At least that might teach him to pick up his fucking phone.

            “Hey,” Mickey said, nearly assaulting a guy that crossed his path. The guy’s outfit screamed “fag” so maybe he knew Ian. From the Burberry scarf to the polished black shoes, he was either gay or a professor. “You know a kid named Ian Gallagher? Redhead?”

            The guy stared back at him, his blue eyes wide and deep set. “Umm...” he began. He looked back down at his phone, finished what he was writing, and then shoved his leather-gloved hands into his pockets. “Yes. He’s my boyfriend.”

            Mickey’s heart stopped beating. Swallowing hard, he managed, “Boyfriend?”

            “Yeah. Why are you looking for him?”

            A moment passed in pure, frozen silence. Then Mickey shrugged. “He has my History notes. I need them before the quiz on Friday.”

            “He’s not taking History.”

            “I didn’t say History,” Mickey countered with enough venom in his voice to bring down an elephant. “So where the fuck can I find him?”

            The guy shrugged. He looked over his shoulder, as if to see if there were any witnesses around, and then met Mickey’s eyes again. His blue eyes wandered from Mickey’s threadbare clothing to his knuckle tattoos and then came back up brimming with judgement. And maybe a little bit of pity. “You can come back to the apartment,” he said. “He might be there. And if he’s not, you can try to find your notebook.”

            Mickey’s mind tripped over the word “apartment,” said like Ian lived there or something. But he nodded dumbly and followed the guy to his car.

 

Ian looked up as the door to the apartment opened. Jared walked in, Mickey behind him. Ian immediately jumped to his feet, nearly dropping the container of yogurt in his hands, and scrambled to look halfway presentable and not as terrified as he actually was. “Hey,” he said, his voice strained around the word. His eyes flicked from Jared to Mickey and back again. “What’s up?”

            “Your friend’s looking for his notes,” Jared said.

            “Right,” Ian replied. “Umm... in here.”

            He gestured behind him and waited for Mickey to approach. He gave Jared one last backwards glance, watched him pull off his scarf and hang it on the rack, and then followed Mickey into the bedroom. Closing the door behind them, he hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here, Mick? And calling me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

            “You live with a guy?” Mickey countered.

            “We had sex in a bathroom once,” Ian said. “We are not going back to you beating the shit out of all my boyfriends.”

            “I’m sorry that I didn’t think you were the kind to cheat on a guy, Ian. Not when you used to give me so much shit for it.”

            “I gave you shit for sleeping with girls when you’re fucking gay,” Ian snapped. Then he heaved in a breath and tried to lower his voice. Mickey stood in front of him, his eyes sharp, but noticeably less likely to throw a punch than he usually was. “What part of me not answering your calls do you not understand?”

            “What part of me calling you four times do you not understand? Do you really think I’m that desperate for dick?”

            Ian gave him a look and Mickey’s hand curled into a fist. Just what he needed right now. To walk back into the living room with a bleeding lip. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all. “What do you want Mickey? And make it quick, please?”

            “I...” Mickey stumbled over the words, something rare. Ian was instantly on high alert and he checked to make sure his door was still closed. Mickey swallowed. “I’m pregnant.”

            Ian’s blood ran cold. “Pregnant?” he repeated stupidly.

            “Yeah.”

            “You’re... we’re...” Ian sat down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. Swallowed. Breathed. Took it in. “Pregnant,” he said, one last time, just to make sure he had the word right. Mickey gave him a look like he was stupid, so he knew he did. “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “What do you want me to say?” Ian asked. “I’ll pay half. I don’t know... what’s half? Like three hundred?” He rummaged for his wallet and had sixty bucks in his hand before he realized Mickey was just staring at him, open-mouthed. “What?” he asked.

            “An abortion,” Mickey said.

            “You couldn’t possibly be planning to fucking raise the thing.”

            “You don’t... you don’t even want to talk about this?”

            “Talk about this?” Ian repeated. He felt like the world had suddenly titled on its axis. Mickey Milkovich was pregnant. Mickey Milkovich wanted to keep the baby. Just to make sure he wasn’t in a bizarre dream, he pinched himself. Ouch. “You’re even considering keeping this baby? Mick... let’s say just for a second that we’re still together, if we ever were together, and things are going well, and we’re a couple years older. You’re telling me _Mickey Milkovich_ , the guy who broke my heart because he didn’t want fucking anyone to know he was gay, wants to keep a baby that for the next nine months will broadcast to the entire world what he is?” Ian softened slightly at the look in Mickey’s eyes, the way his hand wrapped protectively around his belly. “You’re dad would kill you.”

            Mickey shook his head. “No. No, yeah, you’re right.”

            “So you’re gonna abort it?”

            Mickey nodded. Ian started pulling bills out of his wallet again, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. He handed three hundred dollars to Mickey, who flicked through the bills quickly. “Your sugar daddy give you this money?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

            Ian flipped him off. “You want it or not?”

            “Whatever. Have a nice life, Gallagher.”

            “Sure, Mick,” Ian replied. He got off the bed, opened the door for Mickey, and then waved him out the front door. After closing the door, he turned back to Jared, who sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

            Jared looked up. “Everything all right?” he asked.

            “Yeah,” Ian said. He rapped the door with his knuckles and pushed off of it, intent on going to his room. He stopped halfway there and looked at Jared again, long enough that Jared looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Do you love me?” Ian asked.

            “What?”

            “Do you love me?”

            Jared looked around like he thought there might be a hidden camera somewhere. “What are you talking about?”

            “I don’t see how it’s a hard question,” Ian said. “We’ve been together seven months. I practically live in your apartment. We spend almost every second of every day together, so... do you love me?”

            “Why?”

            “Because I think someone else might.”

            Jared stared at him, his fingers slipping from the newspaper. In one smooth motion, he folded up the newspaper and placed it on the table. He leaned onto the back legs of the chair. “I can’t... I don’t think I can answer that.”

            Ian nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t love you either.” Then he walked back into the bedroom and started packing up his things.

 

Mickey took a deep breath and drummed out an uneven rhythm on his knees. Mandy looked up at him from her seat beside the tiny doctor’s office bed. Her thumb played over the corner of the magazine she was pretending to read. “You okay?” she asked.

            He shrugged. “Is it always like this?”

            “You mean the ridiculously long time they make you wait in this freezing room?” she said. “Yeah. Always. I’d guess we’ll have to wait at least ten more minutes.”

            Mickey looked around the small room. All the walls were white, no posters. There was a cabinet by the wall, but no useful or sellable medical supplies were in it. Then a sink sat below it, several different types of hand sanitizer, and a box of gloves. His hospital gown was flimsy and papery and he half expected it to be covered with blood once the baby came out. Or, as they liked to remind him, “fetus.” Not a baby, not yet. Perfectly safe to terminate it.

            “Fuck,” Mickey mumbled.

            “We don’t have to do this,” Mandy said, suddenly.

            Mickey shook his head. He met her eyes and forced a smile. “Ian was right. I can’t raise a baby. I can’t stand up to dad. He’s with someone else. I don’t know... I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. That he would just... wanna be a family or some shit.”

            “Hey,” Mandy said. She scrambled out of her chair and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “It’s okay, Mick. You’re hormonal and emotional and who doesn’t hope that a baby will change things?” She swallowed and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sorry.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know you felt like this about him.”

            “Fuck. Off.”

            Mandy raised her hands in surrender and went back to her seat. She aggressively flipped the pages of the magazine. Mickey lied back on the bed, counted the dots on the ceiling. Absently, he tapped his fingers against the slight swell of his stomach. He knew it wasn’t the baby, not yet, but he thought he could feel it there, just waiting to grow, and he was going to throw it out like garbage.

            “I can’t do it,” he said, suddenly. He sat up, slid off the bed, and grabbed for his clothes. “I can’t. I won’t. This is my kid and I can’t...” he trailed off. Mandy met his eyes and nodded solemnly. She helped him out of the hospital gown and into his clothes, guided him out the door. She stopped for a second at the front desk, whispered something to the woman there, and then walked Mickey back out to the car.

 

Ian knocked on the door of the Milkovich house, certain this was a bad idea. After all, when had Mickey ever appreciated any sign of how he felt about him? Ian had no reason to believe nearly a year away from him had changed any of that. Maybe the way Mickey looked at him in the apartment had just been hormones and as soon as Mickey had gotten the baby out of him he had thought to himself, _well that was fucking gay of me,_ and moved on with his life. Ian wouldn’t be surprised. Mickey seemed to do that a lot when it came to him.

            Still, here he was, outside the house, doing something stupid for Mickey again. He waited several seconds and then knocked again, because why the hell not. He was already fucked one way or another, might as well go for it.

            Mandy opened the door and her eyes widened. “Ian,” she said. Then she squeezed him tight in a hug that made him realize just how much he missed her. He laughed as she pulled back, the smile on her face brilliant. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

            “Well, I’m not—”

            “Here for me. I know. But... come inside.” She stepped back and pulled Ian into the front hallway. The living room was a mess of plastic bags that covered the floor. A power drill could be heard from somewhere in the back of the house and Ian heard something that sounded like screaming through duct tape. He decided not to ask. Mandy yelled, “MICKEY!”

            A volley of curses greeted her yell and soon Mickey emerged from the bathroom, kicking bags to the side. “Why the fuck is all this stuff everywhere? Don’t you guys know how to shove stuff in a goddamn closet?” He struggled to the front of the house and froze when he saw Ian standing there. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

            Ian swallowed, his heart in his throat. Mandy made herself scarce and he looked after her, silently cursing her for not supporting him. “Uhh...” Ian began. “A lot of stuff.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I broke up with Jared.”

            “Who?”

            “My boyfriend.”

            “Why?”

            Ian looked around the living room, fiddled his thumbs. “You know. Stuff. Umm...”

            “I got shit to do, Gallagher, so if you’re just gonna stand her mumbling—”

            “I wanna give it a chance,” Ian spit out.

            “What?”

            Ian licked his lips. “Us. I want to give us a chance. A shot. Whatever. I think we could... work, if you’re willing to try.” Mickey stared at him, blue eyes unblinking, blue eyes so much softer than Jared’s. Fuck. Ian had forgotten what a hold the guy had over him.

            “I mean,” Mickey started. He rubbed his thumb against his bottom lip and shrugged. “If you’re willin’ to try with a baby on the way, then...”

            “You didn’t...?”

            Mickey shook his head. “Couldn’t.”

            Ian nodded, instantly understanding. If he had felt sick at the thought of the baby being aborted, how the fuck would Mickey have felt, the thing alive inside of him? “Yeah. I’m willing.”

            “Come unpack some of this shit then,” Mickey said.

            “What’d you do? Rob a baby store?”

            Mickey gave him a look. “Can you prove it?”

            Ian laughed and pulled Mickey in for a kiss. And, amazingly, Mickey kissed him back.


	11. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey just acting very maternally please! If possible to not only the baby but others like Carl, Debbie, Yev, Liam etc

Mickey lost track of the time around one in the morning. That was the third time he had sung Val to sleep, rocked her gently, and tried to remember if he had ever heard a different lullaby than “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Now she slept, breathing softly, in her crib, Mickey half-dozing in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. He knew he needed to go back to bed and curl up next to Ian under the covers, but then the white noise of the baby monitor would keep him up, his ears straining to hear the smallest of breaths.

            So maybe the baby books had freaked him out a little. The baby must sleep on their back, no covers, or it could suffocate. Barriers are recommended but your baby could roll into them and suffocate. A baby must be woken every two hours to eat or it might die. And to think he had held Val at the hospital, this little breakable thing, without managing to kill her. But then there had been doctors and nurses and a whole wing of the building dedicated to not suffocating babies and it had been so much easier to breathe.

            He opened one eye, Val’s soft breath suddenly gone from the room. His heart stopped. Frozen in his seat, he stared at the crib, fearing the worst, wondering if Ian knew baby CPR. Then she started to cry. High-pitched wails that caused relief to flood Mickey’s senses, overwhelmed him with a happiness that should not come from such an awful sound in the middle of the night.

            Mickey scooped Val out of the crib, cooing softly under his breath. She fit in his arms like a puzzle piece and every time he picked her up, he forgot all fears of dropping her. She was a part of him. Small, tiny, innocent, but nonetheless something he had made and carried and now cared for. “Shh,” he murmured. “You hungry, sweetie? It’s almost time.”

            A sleepy grumble caused Mickey to look towards the doorway. Ian stood there, his eyes bloodshot, hair on end, looking like shit. Mickey could only imagine how much worse he looked. “Thought we agreed I’d take the early mornings?” Ian asked, but he didn’t sound mad, just tired.

            “I was up,” Mickey shrugged.

            “You’ve been up all night.”

            “She needs me.”

            Ian didn’t argue. He walked over, a bottle of formula already in hand. He rested his hand on the top of Val’s head before placing the top of the bottle against her lips. She squirmed, hooked on, and started to suck gently, both her dads looking down on her.

            “Get some sleep,” Ian said. He shifted so he could take Val from Mickey and Mickey reluctantly let her go. “You’re gonna need it.”

            “Okay. But remember to watch her breathing. And make sure she doesn’t drink too fast. And she doesn’t like to be burped too hard so, you know. Gentle. Also—”

            “She’s sick of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?” Ian suggested, a small smile playing across his lips. “Me too.”

            Mickey flipped him off and then exited the room. Ian’s crackly singing voice followed him, some old Irish lullaby leaving his lips. Mickey hummed along to it, the tune familiar enough now, four days into having Val home. He padded down the hallway, hesitated at his door, and then walked further on to Yev’s room.

            Liam had insisted on the sleepover, Ian’s arguments about the new baby no match for him. After Svetlana had promised to take care of both of them and keep them out of Val’s room, Ian had caved quickly. Mickey had forgotten until he saw the seven year-old on the floor of Yev’s room, asleep on a mattress beside Yev’s crib.

            One step into the room, Mickey stopped to make sure the floorboards wouldn’t creak. Then he crept around Liam to stare down at Yev in his big boy crib –the one he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of now that he was just over two-feet tall. He slept easily on his side, thumb in his mouth. Mickey paused to put his hand under his nose, check his breathing. He felt a pang of guilt for not doing this more often, for never doing this. Yev was his kid too, but he barely took care of him, never stayed up to feed him, and had certainly never spent the whole night up at his side, worrying about his breathing.

            On a whim, Mickey leaned down and kissed Yev’s forehead. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he whispered. “I love you.” Then he stepped back and kneeled down to check on Liam.

            The older boy lay in the same position: on his side with his thumb in his mouth. He grumbled unhappily in his sleep, his legs kicking at the threadbare blankets tied around them. Mickey tried his best to smooth the blankets, whispered sweet nothings, but the boy didn’t calm. Liam’s distress reached the point where the gentle sucking on his thumb became biting and Mickey had no choice but to break the cardinal rule of sleeping babies: don’t wake them.

            “Hey,” Mickey whispered. He shook Liam’s legs. “Wake up.”

            Liam squealed, in pain. Mickey shook him harder and his eyes opened. A hard exhale, Liam stared up at Mickey and whispered, “There’s monsters under my bed.”

            “There’s no under your bed.”

            Liam blinked and looked to the side, his hand touching the carpet beneath him. “Did I wake him?” Liam asked, ashamed.

            Mickey looked back at Yev and shook his head. “Nah, he’s good.” He ran a hand through Liam’s curls and said, “Close your eyes. You think you can go back to sleep?” Liam shook his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

            “Sing.”

            Mickey took a deep breath and began his fourth rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Liam was fast asleep by the end of it and Mickey backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

            He made his way back to his bedroom and flopped down on the mattress. Through the static of the baby monitor, he could hear the last lines of Ian’s lullaby. His voice drowned out Val’s breathing, but he was sure it was there as he closed his eyes. Two seconds later, he was asleep.


	12. Morning Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you think you could do a chapter on Mickey's morning sickness phase?

Morning sickness, like so many other things to do with pregnancy, was misnamed. Waking up and vomiting was something Mickey could deal with. Hell, he’d dealt with that for most of his life. Roll out of bed, stumble to the bathroom, puke out your guts, and then wipe it off with the back of your hand and start the day. It was a way of life, one he’d never get too old for even with Ian affectionately calling him “old man” whenever he wore a Hawaiian shirt.

            Puking in the middle of the afternoon, on the other hand, was a fucking waste of his time. You try being in the middle of a business deal, trying to intimidate some loser who doesn’t want to pay your whore, and then having to step out to vomit. Bad enough that soon Mickey would have to do it with a huge belly. It was the girls around here that were supposed to get pregnant, not the pimp.

            He felt that he got all of this across quite poignantly as he heaved into the toilet in the employee washroom of the Alibi. Kevin leaned against the door frame, his phone in his hand, and said, “Look, man, I know you don’t want me to call Ian, but—”

            “You’re not fucking calling Ian,” Mickey began. He vomited dry spittle and coughed. “Morning sickness isn’t a fucking emergency.” He heaved and grey liquid dribbled down the side of the toilet. “Thought you had a wife... and three fucking... kids.”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t remember it being the goddamn apocalypse with her in the middle of the fucking afternoon.”

            “Maybe she was lucky.” Mickey spat and it stuck to the bottom of the toilet seat. He turned on the tile floor to stare up at Kevin, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Puke, up, back to work. The Milkovich way. Then his stomach rebelled, he turned and heaved half his lunch into the toilet.

            “Come on, man,” Kevin said. “People can hear you.”

            “Then they’ll know this bar is a shithole,” Mickey choked out. His throat felt raw, every swallow acid in his throat. Turning, he leaned back against the toilet and let his head hang back in midair, the putrid scent surrounded him. “No one can accuse you of false advertising.”

            “Go home.”

            “Make me.”

            Kevin stared down at Mickey for a moment, licked his lips like he might protest. With a shrug, he turned from the door and left Mickey to his vomit decorated toilet. Mickey grumbled out a few swear words at his back and pushed himself to his feet. He flushed, spit in the sink, and cupped a handful of water to his lips. The cold was a momentary release, but nausea made him dizzy as he stumbled from the bathroom and made his way back up to the whorehouse.

            He took his place at the desk and double-checked the lock on the metal box. Svetlana came out from behind one of the curtains and let an old man out past her. He laid a cursory glance on Mickey before walking away. Svetlana walked up, money between her fingers, and handed half of it to Mickey.

            “How’s baby?” she asked.

            “What?” Mickey said.

            “Baby,” she said. “Reason you go to bathroom so much.”

            Mickey stared at her. “Who the fuck told you that?”

            “No one tell me,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

            Mickey glared at her, then said, “Look, we’re not fucking telling anyone yet. Not even sure if I’m gonna keep the damn thing.”

            She blinked at him, lashes unnaturally long. She tossed a few extra bills at him and said, “Abort then. Soon. Before you stink up whole place with your sickness.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and she moved to step away. “Svet,” he said at the last second. She turned, one eyebrow raised, fingernails poised to scratch. He licked his lips. “You know any way to make it better?”

            For a moment, she said nothing. Then, “Water and home,” she said. “Take care of self. Keep baby happy.” She took two steps away and added, “And orange boy too. All of you happy.”

            “Useless!” Mickey shouted at her as she closed her curtain. He muttered a few more swears for good measure and counted out the money she’d given him. His stomach rolled again and he closed his eyes, prayed for the feeling to subside. But, no, that would be too fucking easy. He doubled over in his chair and vomited into the nearest garbage can.

            “Home!” Svetlana called.

            Mickey swore. Home it was. He dialed Ian’s number and waited five rings for him to pick up. “Hello?” Ian asked, voice thick with sleep.

            “Hey,” Mickey said. “Pick me up?”

            “Sure. What’s wrong?”

            “Morning sickness.”

            There was silence on the line for a second and then Ian said, “Okay. We can stop at the grocery store on the way back, get some saltines. I think bananas are supposed to be good for that too... I’ll Google it.” He paused, huffed like he did when he pulled on his pants. “Want me to call the doctor? See if there’s anything we can do to help it?”

            “Nah, just... pick me up,” Mickey said. He swallowed vomit that made its way up his throat, winced the whole way down.

            “I’ll be right there,” Ian said, his voice honey smooth.

            Mickey hung up and went back to the bathroom. The tile cold against his legs, he wrapped his arms around the toilet and let his guts fall out through his mouth. Ten minutes in, he heard footsteps behind him and Kevin said, “Think you’re gonna have to fight the toilet for him.”

            Ian’s breathless laugh sounded through the air and his hand came down on Mickey’s back. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”


	13. Mickey's Belly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'd love it if you wrote a fic about Ian having a thing for how big Mickey's belly has gotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

            Mickey was about five months along when he first noticed it. He’d get up, the weight of the baby aching, and cross the room in nothing but his boxers and Ian would watch him waddle across the room. His sea green eyes stuck to Mickey’s belly, the gentle curve of his skin over a living being, and then he would look up at Mickey and growl, “Come back to bed.”

            The edge to his voice was playful, unrestrained. Mickey smirked at him and didn’t move from the end of the bed. “I gotta go to work,” he said.

            Ian slid down to the end of the bed. His lips came down on Mickey’s belly, soft. “Be late.”

            Mickey scoffed. “Fuck off.”

            Ian’s hands took hold of his hips. His chin skidded against the swell of Mickey’s belly, he licked his lips. Eyes shining like that, Mickey didn’t know if it was possible to walk away. “Be late,” Ian repeated, his voice hardening around the command. “Stay.”

            “Ian...” Mickey began. But then Ian pressed his lips to his belly, soft and careful against his skin. He’d always known Ian had a thing for his tummy, for the folds of it, but he didn’t know that would extend to him having a living, breathing human being inside of him. He wondered if the baby would kick Ian off, find his dad weird. Mickey found Ian weird and if he was a baby, he’d probably kick him off. But the baby was still inside of him, letting Ian kiss Mickey’s skin.

            “Four more months,” Ian said in wonder. He pulled at the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and let them fall to the floor.

            “You’re letting your imagination get away from you,” Mickey replied. The edge of a smile slipped onto his lips as Ian pushed him back a step. “I might not get much bigger at all.”

            “Gallagher babies are nine pounds,” Ian replied.

            “Milkoviches tend to be more like four or five.”

            “Guess we’ll have to see whose genes win out,” Ian mumbled. He slid to the floor, his knees banged against the floorboards. Mickey sighed, ready to pull Ian from the floor, tell him that he needed to go, but he waited until Ian’s mouth was around his cock first. Warm saliva slipped up his shaft and he shifted involuntarily. He could feel Ian’s smile around him.

            “Fuck you,” Mickey said.

            Ian moved down his shaft, licked the tip, and said, “Give me a second.”

            Mickey laughed, felt Ian’s hands creep up the back of his thighs and cup his ass. His mouth moved slowly back and forth. One of his hands spread over the swell of the belly and this time the baby did kick him, but it only made Ian suck harder, his movements become more erratic. Mickey reached a hand into Ian’s hair, pulled at the strands until Ian gasped against his cock.

            “Hurry up,” Mickey said.

            Ian grumbled something incoherent, licked the tip of Mickey’ dick, and moved his mouth faster. He swirled his tongue around the shaft until Mickey groaned and swallowed when he came. He kissed around the swell of Mickey’s belly, up his chest, and then kissed his lips. His green eyes sparkled in the morning light.

            “I’m gonna be late,” Mickey warned. Ian’s hands were warm against his ass, tight on his skin. “Very late.”

            Ian said, “What’s Kev gonna do? Fire you?”

            “Maybe.” He tried to keep himself from smiling as Ian stared at him and then swore when the smile escaped him. He pressed his lips to Ian’s, a quick kiss, then wrestled off Ian’s shirt. “Quickly,” he said.

            Ian faked an innocent expression. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

            Thus started a long period of Mickey being very late for work. Ian became friskier the bigger Mickey’s belly got and Mickey’s protests became less and less the more it happened, knowing that Kevin now expected him to be late. 


	14. Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey & Ian having difficulty having sex because of his baby bump. Like everytime Ian tries to blow him, his head bumps against Mickey's tummy and it starts hurting so they have to stop. And they can't find a comfortable position to do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

            Mickey had no problem waking up to morning blow jobs. In fact, it was probably the best thing about Ian living with him. He’d gotten used to waking up with Ian’s hands on him, soft lips near the base of his cock, and the gentle moaning sounds Ian made to penetrate the fog of his sleep. Life was good at the Milkovich house.

            That is, until the baby came along. All snug in Mickey’s stomach, probably sucking its goddamn thumb, an easy Gallagher nine pounds, it expanded Mickey’s belly to the size of a balloon. Then morning blow jobs became mornings where Ian tried somewhat unsuccessfully to find Mickey’s cock below his engorged belly.

            “Would you just fucking give up?” Mickey snapped.

            Ian’s forehead bumped against Mickey’s tummy. His rough tongue licked the tip of Mickey’s cock and went up about halfway before stopping at an impasse. Could Ian technically get further? Definitely. Did his anxiety over hitting his head against the baby repeatedly and possibly giving it brain damage get in the way? Hell yeah. And that didn’t go away no matter how many times the doctor repeated that the baby was perfectly safe from a little jostling.

            Not that Mickey really cared. Having Ian’s forehead constantly hitting the bottom of his belly was anything but sexy. In fact, it was rather painful. Which is why he said again, “Come on. Fucking stop already.”

            Ian paused then kissed up the curve of Mickey’s belly until he came to his navel. He rested his chin on top of Mickey’s tummy and licked his lips. “I would’ve gotten it.”

            Mickey nearly laughed. Nearly. Instead he scoffed. “Exactly how small do you think my dick is?”

            “Well, I’m not gonna say mine wouldn’t get lost in this belly, but...” Ian laughed as Mickey kicked at him and then brought his hands down on Mickey’s legs to still them. He massaged them gently, his smile fading. “I could come in from here.”

            “Yeah, you and what army’s gonna hold my fat ass up?”

            Ian rubbed his fingers under Mickey’s thighs and tested his weight. Mickey stared at him, one eyebrow raised, and waited until Ian dropped his legs again. “Doggy style?” Ian suggested.

            Mickey blinked. “Me standing and trying to stay still while supporting this belly or me lying on my stomach like a fucking beached whale?”

            Ian sighed and crawled off of the bed. He took a cigarette from the bed side table and lit it, smoke filling the room. Mickey had half a heart to tell him that second hand smoke was bad for the baby, but he knew Ian needed the release.

            “I could go on my side?” Mickey suggested.

            Ian laughed. “Yeah. ‘Cause that’s an angle I wanna work with.”

            “You’re the one who’s horny as all fuck,” Mickey snapped. He backed up into a sitting position, leaning heavily on the pillows behind him. He watched Ian stumble over to the window and blow out the smoke in his mouth. He was gorgeous in the late morning light, curves golden, hair on fire, smoke rings releasing from his pursed lips.

            Ian looked back at him over his shoulder, snubbed out his cigarette on the window sill. “You wanna ride?”

            Mickey snorted. “You can’t hold me up but you think I can hold myself up?”

            “You get around easily enough.”

            “Yeah, with the fucking still ground under me, not you bucking like a goddamn bronco.”

            Ian rolled his eyes, his shoulders tense. Mickey blew out a breath, tried not to let annoyance get the best of him. It’d been weeks since they’d done anything. Weeks where his belly got in the way or the baby started moving too hard or Mickey was sick and sweaty and not in the mood or Ian’s meds went whack and he couldn’t get out of bed, let alone get it up. Okay, so maybe months was more accurate than weeks. And the baby wasn’t even due for another month.

            Ian sat down on the edge of the bed, stared at Mickey. He pecked him on the lips. “Suck me off?” he asked.

            “And put my belly fucking where?”

            “It’s not removable?”

            Mickey pursed his lips hard so he wouldn’t spit on him. He shook his head bitterly. “I can’t be down on my knees like that. Not with this weight. I’d never fucking get up.”

            Ian sighed and laid back, his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey ran his fingers through Ian’s hair, soft and smooth. Turning his head, he kissed the side of Ian’s temple, up to his hairline, and then let his nose fall into his hair. It smelled of flowers, Mandy’s shampoo the only semi-full bottle in the house.

            “Handjobs?” Mickey suggested.

            Ian’s eyes flickered and Mickey could tell he was looking down, trying to calculate his arm’s angle versus the width of Mickey’s belly. “I mean... I could try...” he said. He looked up at Mickey, his green eyes wrinkled at the edges. “But I don’t think it’s gonna work.”

            “Well, at least let me see what I can do,” Mickey said, letting his voice slip into the deep, rough place it was after sleep. Ian’s eyebrows raised and Mickey let his hand fall from Ian’s hair and creep down his leg. Ian shifted up on the bed slightly to give Mickey less of a reach and a better angle.

            Mickey’s hand wrapped around Ian’s cock and Ian let out an involuntary moan of pleasure, immediately less stressed just to feel Mickey against him. Mickey moved his hand slowly at first, his thumb stroking the length of Ian’s cock. Then, as Ian mumbled, “Faster” he sped up on command, and worked through the cramps in his wrist until Ian came. It didn’t take much. A little friction and a little affection was more than they’d had together in months.

            “Fuck,” Ian said as Mickey wiped off his hand on the sheets. “We should go without more often. Fuck.”

            Mickey smirked. “Whole month until the baby’s here.” He leaned over and kissed Ian. “Promise I won’t touch you until the sucker’s out.”

            “Fuck you,” Ian said, but there was no menace in his voice, just a happy calm, brought on by a long needed release.


	15. Social Services & Santa Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey and Ian taking Valeria to see Santa at the mall!

“How fucking long is this line?” Mickey asked.

            “Shh,” Ian said. He pressed his hands over Val’s ears, bounced her gently in the carrier attached to his chest.

            “If you still think you’ve got a snowball’s chance of her first word not being ‘fuck’, you’re fucking delusional,” Mickey snapped. A parent in front of them turned to glare at him and he glared back. The parent turned back around in half a second, Mickey’s hands curling into fists that perfectly displayed his knuckle tattoos. “It’s a guy dressed up in a red velvet suit. There’s no fucking reason the line should be so long you can’t see ‘im.”

            “It’s Christmas,” Ian said.

            “Christmas my ass.”

            Ian cleared his throat, along with several other parents.

            “Oh, bah humbug!” Mickey exclaimed, glaring at everyone who looked his way. He stuck to muttering a few choice swear words under his breath and then looked back at Val, who was happily sucking her thumb as Ian bounced on the balls of her feet. “You even wanna see Santa, Val? You know who he is?”

            Val stared back at him, her green eyes a mirror image of her father’s. She blinked, expression blank and vacant, and giggled when Ian reached down a hand to tickle her ribs.

            “You’re excited to see Santa, right?” Ian cooed. “He’ll bring you presents.”

            Mickey snorted. “He’s not fucking real.”

            Ian’s eyes immediately went cold, none of his usual amusement at Mickey’s bluntness present. He hissed, “You can’t say that here.”

            “Why not?”

            “We’re in a line-up full of kids going to _see_ Santa. You wanna make all of them cry or just your own kid?”

            Rolling his eyes, Mickey tousled the few black curls atop Val’s head and said, “She’s not even gonna remember this. She probably has no fucking clue—” He stopped as Ian cleared his throat. Resisted the urge to flip him off, but still shot him a cold smirk. His wedding band itched and he had half a mind to take it off for a couple of days to teach Ian a lesson for making him come here. “She doesn’t even know who Santa _is._ And yet here we are, in a forty foot line, waiting to see some old geezer in a red suit who’s probably a child molester.”

            Ian said nothing, so Mickey went on, “Years from now Val will see this picture, her first trip to see a fake Coca-Cola icon, and say, ‘hey, daddy, isn’t that the man from the news who just got arrested?’ And then we’ll have one more thing to explain to child services when they come by. Why there’s a framed photo of our kid with a known sex offender.”

            A green glare shot his way. Val whined as Ian stilled and he wrapped a hand around hers to reassure her. Mickey forced a smile for her sake and she smiled back, always happy to see her less happy father pretending for her. “We’re not gonna have child services come by, ever,” Ian said.

            “Do you fucking know where we live?”

            “Would you shut up?” Ian snapped, his voice quiet, almost indistinguishable from the December mall bustle. He stepped closer to Mickey in the line, moving up with the flow of people. Half a foot. In seven minutes. They were going to be here until the mall closed. “There are little kids here to see Santa Claus who don’t need to hear you going on about Coca-Cola and swearing more than a cable TV show. I saved up good money to get this picture and we are here to get this picture and you will pretend to be fucking happy about it.”

            Mickey stared at him. “Another reason social services is coming to our house. You paid for our daughter’s Santa picture with your ass.”

            “Shut. Up.” Ian said the words in a way that made it very clear he was actually saying, “Fuck off.”

            Mickey looked down the length of the line, trying to see Santa. The back of Santa’s village rose up before them, giant red cardboard pieces hiding everything from view. People walked around the circular enclosure, some kids pointing up towards where Mickey assumed Santa sat and their parents pulled them away. Smart parents. This line wasn’t even likely to end before the mall closed.

            “How many people do you think we can get past if we say she’s dying?” Mickey whispered.

            Ian shot him a glare, but a friendlier one. “We’re not saying she’s dying.”

            “You’re dying? I’m dying?”

            “You are so on the naughty list.”

            Mickey grinned, the corners of his mouth curling high. “You know that’s where I like to be,” he said. “But I prefer a spanking to coal.”

            Finally Ian cracked a smile, but his hands went back over their daughter’s ears. Mickey bent to kiss Val on the forehead, stepped back and watched her eyes follow him. Green eyes like that were impossible to say no to. She’d be one hell of a heartbreaker.

            “She’ll hate it,” he said.

            Ian looked at him, one eyebrow cocked.

            “The picture,” Mickey clarified. “She’ll be sixteen and dressing like Mandy and see it on the mantle place and want it down _right fucking now_ before any of her friends see her on Santa’s lap, dressed like this.” She had little reindeer antlers on her head and was wearing an elf onesie that Mandy had bought with her tips. It’d nearly cost them a late fee on the electricity bill, but seeing her dressed up now was worth it. Not that he’d tell Mandy that. “God, she’s really gonna hate us.”

            “She’ll love us,” Ian said. He wrapped an arm around Mickey’s waist and pulled him closer. A peck on the lips and he stayed close, his thumb rubbing up Mickey’s spine.

            Mickey smiled. “Do we love our parents?”

            “Our parents are terrible.”

            “Please don’t try to say we’re not terrible,” Mickey said. “I’m a pimp and you’re a stripper. She’ll end up on the streets or on a pole and I’m not sure which one I’m more worried about.”

            “She won’t be on the streets,” Ian said. “She’ll be above the Alibi.”

            Mickey laughed, caused more glares from nearby parents. They shuffled forward a few steps and Ian let out a sigh. He looked over the heads of the other parents and tried to see the front of the line.

            “Regretting this yet?” Mickey asked.

            “Nope.”

            “Liar.”

            Ian smirked, but said nothing. Mickey took Val out of the carrier, let Ian stretch his shoulders, and bounced her on his hip. He whispered sweet nothings to her, a smile on his face. He maybe swore more than once and more than was necessary. He’d be fucked if he lost the bet with Ian about her first word. He’d make sure it was “fuck” even if that did mean regular visits from social services.

            By the time Santa’s village came into sight, Val had switched hands twice more, now safely back in the carrier, and Ian was yawning. Mickey had taken up his usual stance, crossed arms with his tattooed knuckles flexed over his elbows, and was glaring at anyone who dared to shoot odd looks at them or their baby girl. Their feet were asleep and Val was dozing, her eyes closed and her head laid back. Mickey looked down at her.

            “We allowed to wake her for this?” Mickey asked.

            “If you want a picture of her crying.”

            “You want a picture of her sleeping?”

            Ian considered, looked down at their little girl. “Yeah. It’ll be sweet.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes. “We’ve been in line for ninety minutes to get an embarrassing picture of our kids first Christmas and not only will she not remember it, her eyes’ll be closed?”

            “It’ll be cute.”

            “She’ll claim we drugged her and forced her into Santa’s lap.”

            “Let social services deal with it.”

            Mickey snorted and stepped up onto the red velvet carpet. He pulled Val from the carrier and approached the Santa, an old man in a velvet suit with a beard that barely grew out from his chin. “Careful,” Mickey said. He extended Val out to the man, who held her waist with white gloves, but didn’t let go. “She’s precious cargo.”

            “Ho ho ho,” the man said. “Don’t worry. Santa can hold a baby!”

            “Fuck off and just be careful,” Mickey snapped.

            The Santa’s expression faltered slightly, his smile fading and then coming back at a million watts. He nodded and Mickey stepped back, arms crossed. Ian was whispering to the photographer, telling him what angles they wanted. The Santa curled Val close in his arm, waving at her closed eyes, and smiled into the camera.

            “This is creepy as fuck,” Mickey said. And, when Ian didn’t reply, he added, “We just gave our daughter over to an old man.”

            “It’s Santa,” Ian said, bored of the argument. But he looked down at Mickey with shining eyes and pulled him closer until their hips knocked together. “It’s a moment we’ll cherish forever.”

            “It’s a moment to show to her future boyfriends,” Mickey said.

            “Or girlfriends.”

            “Whichever’s more embarrassing.”

            Ian laughed and went to collect Val from Santa. He settled her back into the carrier with Mickey’s help and then handed over the money to the photographer. They had to wait another ten minutes for the photos to be developed (a process that made Mickey say “fuck” several more time and gain several more glares from waiting parents) and then they headed out of the mall.

            “Thank fucking god that’s over,” Mickey said.

            “Until next year.”

            Mickey glared at him and Ian simply walked faster, ignoring Mickey’s protests that he had to promise, right then and there, that they were never going back to a mall Santa again.


	16. Mickey's Baby Bump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A story all about Mickey's baby bump and Ian being like dude you're not THAT fat.

Mickey placed a hand against his swollen stomach and looked up at Ian, somewhat accusingly. Ian resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he had two large garbage bags in his hands and Mickey had plates of half-eaten food strewn on the table in front of him. “Just clean the fuck up,” Ian said. “Children are better at this than you are.”

            “You try doing things with this belly,” Mickey snapped. He was nine months along, ready to pop, and irritable about his due date being three days past. But he’d been running this stint for months, how big the baby was, how heavy it was, how hard it was for him to just get up and take out the trash. _Come the fuck on._

            Ian dropped the trash bags on the floor and said, “You’re not that fat.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You’re not that fucking fat,” Ian snapped. He glared into Mickey’s blue eyes, ignoring all of the other guy’s patented intimidation tactics. He could wrinkle his brow and curl his fists all he wanted, he wasn’t winning this argument, not even while carrying Ian’s child. “You can still get off the fucking couch.”

            “Oh, what would you know?” Mickey said. “You carrying this belly around?”

            “No, but you were doing fine last night getting up off your knees.”

            Mickey’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. Ian was sure that if Mickey’s argument wasn’t contingent on him staying on the couch he’d be in his face by now, backing him into a wall. It was easy to get Mickey going now that he’d seen that _Friends_ episode where labour could be sped up by having sex.

            “Come on,” Ian said. “Take out the trash. You know you can.”

            “I’m fat and pregnant and this close to popping and you want me carrying heavy trash bags?”

            “Jesus, Mick, no need to be so dramatic.”

            Mickey shook his head and laid back on the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table, knocking dishes onto the floor. “I’m just gonna sit here until my water breaks and then you’re gonna call an ambulance to move my fat ass because I’m not walking out to the car and there’s no way you can carry me there.”

            “I could easily carry you there,” Ian said.

            “No, you couldn’t.”

            “Easy,” Ian repeated. He approached and looped one arm under Mickey’s knees. Mickey opened one eye to look at him, cocked his eyebrow. “You ready?”

            “You can’t.”

            “I can.”

            Mickey made a hand motion somewhere between flipping Ian off and saying “go ahead.” Ian bent his knees, slipped his other arm behind Mickey’s back, and tried to lift him. But, truth was, even if Mickey hadn’t been carrying a nine pound baby, Ian still probably wouldn’t have been able to lift him. He flopped down onto the couch beside Mickey and listened to his laughter.

            “Guess I’ll have to get it out of you then,” Ian said. He leaned in and kissed Mickey on the lips.

            “You better,” Mickey growled.


	17. In Sickness & In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you think you could one where Mick is like 6 mouth pregnant and quiet sick and stuff so people are worried about him?????

Mickey didn’t know when he had last slept through the night. Most nights he was up until late, listening to Ian’s breathing, and he drifted off without realizing it. He woke early, earlier than Ian, and just let his eyes close to the warmth of his boyfriend’s body, the flutter of breath against the back of his neck. If he stayed still long enough, he could feel the baby wriggle in his stomach, kick against him.

            Getting out of bed was hard, so he waited for Ian to go before he even attempted it. His back smarted, his shoulders tight, and to get into a sitting position was near torture. He steadied himself against the edge of his mattress, breathed hard. The veins in his wrists were large and blue, perfectly normal according to the doctor, but hard and easy to scrape uncomfortably against the bed frame. His fingertips and toes tingled and he was almost sure if he took a step he would fall flat on his face.

            So instead of getting out of bed or calling Ian back from work, Mickey laid back down in bed and brought the covers up to his face. A second later he was back asleep, even with his stomach grumbling for food. He didn’t wake until someone burst into the house a few hours later, heels clicking against the floorboards.

            “Mickey?” Svetlana called. She appeared in the doorway, a frown on her face. “What you doing here?”

            “I’m sick,” Mickey mumbled.

            “What?”

            “Sick,” Mickey snapped. “Fuckin’ dying, all right?”

            “This about baby?”

            Mickey stared at her for a long moment and then nodded.

            “I’ll call orange boy.”

            “No, no, don’t...” Mickey sighed. He forced himself into a seated position and said, “Don’t call Ian. I’m fine. Really.”

            Svetlana crossed her arms. “Then stand up.”

            The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Mickey could already feel his knees shaking, even with no weight on them. He moved his fingers to the edge of the bed, ready to test his weight, if only to prove Svetlana wrong. The moment he moved to stand though, Svetlana stepped into the room, her long fingernails bit into his shoulder, and he was pushed back down onto the bed.

            “Don’t be idiot,” Svetlana snapped. “I call orange boy.”

            Mickey looked up at her, set his jaw. “Don’t call Ian.”

            “I call someone.”

            Mickey wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but he nodded. She left the room and he curled back under the covers, his entire body tingling. Maybe the person Svetlana should have been calling was the doctor, but admitting that would mean admitting that she should probably call Ian, and he wasn’t dragging Ian out of work because he couldn’t stand up. Half the time he couldn’t stand up just because his belly was so fucking huge.

            A few minutes later Svetlana came back with a bowl of soup and made him sit up to eat it. She sat at his feet the whole time, no matter how many times he told her to fuck off, and took the bowl back when he finished. Then he slept for a while and was woken to two female voices beside his bed.

            “What’s wrong?” Fiona asked.

            “Can’t stand,” Svetlana said. “Big veins, probably muscle aches.”

            Mickey blinked open his eyes to look at Fiona. She stood with her arms crossed, chewing her bottom lip. “Okay. Well, we need to get him up.”

            “Fuck you,” Mickey mumbled.

            Fiona glanced over at him and then kneeled down by the side of the bed. She gave him the look she usually reserved for Ian would he refused to get out of bed. “I know you don’t want to, but exercise is the best thing for most of these symptoms.”

            “You’ve never been pregnant.”

            “Yeah, but I coached my mom through most of hers,” Fiona replied. She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Come on. Get up.”

            “Make me,” Mickey replied. And, to his surprise, Fiona was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. Or maybe he just wasn’t as heavy as he thought he was. She got him into a sitting position, settled her hands against his shoulders, and waited a moment before pulling him to his feet. Mickey leaned heavily on her and she stumbled, so Svetlana stepped to his other side to balance him.

            “Okay, small steps, deep breaths,” Fiona said.

            “I’m not a fucking hospice patient.”

            “I’m not a fucking nurse. Walk.”

            Mickey grumbled a few choice swear words but put one foot in front of the other and let the women walk him around the house twice. They then set him down on the couch and Fiona sat on the table in front of him. “Anything else I should be worried about? How’s your diet?”

            “Great.”

            “Really?”

            “Ian’s more paranoid than you are,” Mickey replied. “My diet’s fine.”

            “I’m going to go get a heating pad from Vee and I’ll be right back, okay?” Fiona said. She patted his knee and added, to Svetlana, “Make sure he does another loop before I come back.”

            Svetlana nodded and Fiona left. Mickey settled his head back into the couch cushions, his eyes closed, and said, “You guys don’t have to do this.”

            “Without us, you and baby would be dead,” Svetlana said.

            Mickey flipped her off and she pulled him to his feet. He managed it better this time, her support more of a comfort than a crutch. The tingling in his extremities was starting to ebb. His stomach growled and Svetlana stopped him in the kitchen, forced him to make his own food this time. He stumbled around the kitchen making a sandwich and then settled back down onto the couch to eat.

            Fiona came back with Vee in tow and an old heating pad with frayed edges. “Looks like a fire hazard,” Mickey said. They ignored him and prodded him until he let them place the pad behind his back.

            “Feel better?” Vee asked.

            Mickey flipped her off.

            Fiona said, “I’m gonna clean this place up a little. You know you’re bringing a baby here in three months, right? It can’t look like this. You even got a birth plan yet?”

            “No, mom,” Mickey said.

            Fiona whacked him on the head and he couldn’t help but smile. Then she headed off to the kitchen, dragging the other women with her. Mickey flipped through the channels on the TV and was occasionally disturbed to go for another walk around the house. Fiona tried to convince him to go outside and he outright laughed at her. It was hours before they let him go back to bed for a nap.

            When he woke again, there were fingers curling through his hair. He looked up to see Ian sitting on the edge of the bed, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” Mickey grumbled.

            “Hey,” Ian said. “How are you?”

            “Good,” Mickey replied and he was surprised to find it wasn’t much of a lie.

            “Is there a reason Fiona, Svet, and Vee are baby-proofing the house?”

            “They’re...” Mickey blinked, sniffed, tried to wake up. “They’re what?”

            “Baby-proofing the house,” Ian replied.

            Mickey smirked. “They think we’re gonna kill this baby, so they thought they’d get a head start on some of the issues social services will have with the house.”

            Ian’s smile faded too easily. “They said you were pretty sick today.”

            Mickey shrugged. “I’m better now.”

            “I want you to call me, Mick. I don’t care if I’m at work or what. I want you to call me.”

            Mickey stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

            Ian nodded back. Then he patted Mickey’s shoulder and bounced off the bed. “Come on. Get up. Fi said she couldn’t get you outside, so let’s go.”

            “I’m not fucking going outside.”

            “Yes, you are.”

            “Make me,” Mickey said. But this time, when hands reached down to pull him up, he pulled Ian down instead. Lips crashed together, he kissed him hard. “Maybe there’s another form of exercise we could test.”

            Ian smiled against his lips, kissed him twice, then pulled back. “Later.” He pulled back and managed to push Mickey into a sitting position. “Right now, you need fresh air.”

            “Fuck you,” Mickey muttered, but without much venom behind it. He took the pants his boyfriend offered him and got ready to go for a walk outside.


	18. Soft & Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey being ridiculously horny all the time and wanting Ian every way, he's too big to have rough sex so they have really slow, sweet sex almost like making love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Ian got home late from work, slicked with sweat and glitter. He yawned around the smoke in his lungs, too many cigarettes on his break, and knew somehow he’d have to brush his teeth before he settled down into bed with Mickey. He smiled at the thought of his pregnant boyfriend, half asleep in bed, ready to be fully asleep, but waiting up for him anyways.

            It’d been like that for weeks. Two a.m., five a.m., noon. Mickey was always pulling him back into bed, onto the couch, into the nearest empty corner at whatever store they were at. And Ian had to very gently remind him that there was no way he could be bent over a table, no way he could steady himself well enough to ride, and certainly no way that Ian could or would pin him against the nearest wall. His belly was too big for it.

            Of course, none of that stopped Mickey from trying.

            Ian gargled orange juice and winced when his spit hit the kitchen sink. He chugged half the carton, tossed it back into the fridge, and covered one last yawn before he headed into the bedroom.

            Like he expected, Mickey was curled in the covers, facing the doorway. His eyes were closed, but the light on the nightstand was on, causing his eyes to twitch to keep closed. Ian pushed the door when he entered and the squeak of the hinges alerted Mickey to his presence. Bleary eyed and with a covered yawn, Mickey looked up at him with a kind of grimaced half smile.

            “Hey, sleepy,” Ian said. He dropped his pants on the floor and his shirt followed. Sitting down at the bottom of the bed, he pulled off his socks. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

            “You didn’t,” Mickey mumbled. The end of his sentence was punctuated with a yawn and Ian felt him shift in the bed behind him.

            “Didn’t mean to keep you up,” Ian corrected.

            Mickey’s lips found his bare shoulder, warm and rough. The swell of his belly pressed into Ian’s lower back and, if Ian focussed, he could feel the baby’s soft kick, annoyance at Mickey’s movement in the middle of the night. Mickey trailed kisses up Ian’s neck, across his jaw, and sucked on his earlobe.

            “You know I like to wait,” Mickey said, voice husky.

            Ian almost laughed at him. “You’re the most impatient person I know.”

            Mickey turned Ian’s head, kissed him once. “But you make it worth the wait.”

            Ian fell into the kiss. His hand landed on Mickey’s neck, pulled him close, but he kept the rhythm slow. He felt Mickey’s moan against his lips, a low vibration that shivered through his whole body. After a minute, he stood and pulled out of the embrace. He dropped his boxers to the floor and told Mickey, “Lie back.”

            Mickey smirked. “Since when do I do what you tell me?”

            Ian rolled his eyes, tried to hide his smile. He pulled the covers off of Mickey’s legs and crawled between them. Soft kisses against Mickey’s belly, he tilted his chin up and said, “Lie back.”

            Mickey muttered a feeble protest, then did as he was told, wriggled so his head was comfortable on the pillow. Ian rubbed smooth circles down Mickey’s thighs and grazed his fingers over Mickey’s ass.

            “Go faster,” Mickey said.

            “You know I can’t.”

            “You just like to fucking torture me.”

            Ian exhaled a laugh, slid up between Mickey’s legs. He spread his knees slightly, looked down into his boyfriend’s hooded blue eyes. “Sure you don’t wanna go to sleep?” Ian said. “It’s late.”

            “Don’t be such a fucking girl,” Mickey snapped.

            “Lube,” Ian replied and reached out a hand. Mickey reached blindly over to the nightstand, his hand catching on the tube, and handed it over. Ian spread it on two fingers, cold jelly sticky in the crooks of his fingers, and said, “Deep breath.”

            “Fuck—” Mickey cut himself off when Ian pressed his fingers into his ass. Lip bitten, he wriggled with the gentle pressure Ian used on him. “Harder.”

            “You can barely handle this,” Ian replied. He pulled out his fingers and pressed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s belly. “Condom.”

            Mickey handed one over, waited while Ian rolled it on. Ian moved deliberately slowly, knowing that if he couldn’t be rough, Mickey’s other preference was torturously slow, even if he’d never admit to liking it. Ian laid one hand on top of Mickey’s belly, the other at his hip, and waited for Mickey to shift his legs further up. When he did, Ian entered him slowly, pulled out after one or two inches, then went in again with the same precision, same gentle rhythm.

            “Fuck,” Mickey breathed out.

            Ian kept his pace, everything quiet except his boyfriend’s heavy breaths.

            “Ian. Faster.”

            Ian ignored him. Mickey’s hand intertwined their fingers over his belly, a gentle squeeze. Ian moved his other hand down to Mickey’s cock, stroked gently at first, and got a groan out of Mickey. Slowly, he sped up his hand as he kept his thrusts even.

            “Could you go slower?” Mickey complained, but he was breathless.

            Ian pressed a kiss to the back of Mickey’s hand, trailed kisses over the swell of his belly. He moved his hand harder, felt Mickey respond. Mickey’s free hand tangled in his hair, a slow stroke of his fingers, and a slight pressure that told Ian to hurry. But Ian kept himself together, his entire body hot, but the slowness nice for once, the force of Mickey’s hand desperate but not rushing him. Ian tilted his head to look up into his boyfriend’s eyes and Mickey stared back at him, a soft smile on his face.

            “You ever do this before, Gallagher?” Mickey said.

            “Fuck you,” Ian said.

            “Baby can hear you, you know.”

            Ian laughed and gave one, sharp thrust. Enough to make Mickey groan and his fingers squeeze tighter around Ian’s hand. His fingers slipped from Ian’s hair, caressed his cheek. Ian slowed his fingers on Mickey’s cock, a gentle graze now as he thrust harder, Mickey’s noises of pleasure making it harder to go slow.

            Ian came before Mickey and finished his boyfriend off quickly with his hand, moving roughly to get him to come quicker. Then he sat back on his knees, breath hard. “Regretting your promise to go soft on me?” Mickey asked.

            “Fuck you,” Ian replied. He crawled over onto his own side of the bed, wrestled himself under the covers. Then he looked over at Mickey, who darted forward quickly to kiss him. The hard kisses, his tongue rough, spoke more words than Mickey needed to. Ian pulled back with a grumble. “Let me sleep, would you?”

            Mickey nuzzled into his shoulder, kissed his neck. “Maybe for a few hours.”

            Ian snorted. “Don’t wake me ‘til noon,” he warned.

            “No promises,” Mickey said, but he rolled back over to his side of the bed and, in the space of a second, was snoring loudly.


	19. The Surrogate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ian and his boyfriend break up a couple of days after Ian delivered his sperm for their surrogacy. The guy who got pregnant is Mickey. When they meet Ian doesn't tell him anything about the break up because he falls in love with Mickey the moment he sees him.

Ian checked the time on his phone again. He had exhausted all the possibilities for what he could do with his spare time. He had texted every member of his family with various excuses for why he was chickening out, argued with each of them for a solid ten minutes, given up, paced the restaurant, ordered three drinks (so what if it was noon, he was entitled to a drink given the situation), ordered and eaten a whole plate of fries, ordered a second plate of fries, and had now obsessively checked his phone eighteen times. And, yes, he was keeping track of how many times he had checked his phone. Nineteen now. Twenty.

            Maybe the guy had chickened out too. He realized there was a kid in him for the first time and bolted with it, or aborted it, or maybe he fucking miscarried and was now too afraid to tell him. Maybe he didn’t even know if he was pregnant yet and preferred to wait to contact them until he knew for sure. It took a while for the results to come through, right? Two weeks, Ian thought. And it’d only been three days. So, really, could he blame the guy for not wanting to come meet him yet? He probably expected some overzealous parent bent on this one shot at surrogacy and, well, he would have gotten that had Craig not broken up with Ian three days ago.

            It’d be better if the surrogate didn’t show up. Craig had arranged the whole thing; Ian had never met the guy, and now he was the one expected to let the guy down easy. He really wanted to blame the whole thing on Craig, say he had gone bat shit crazy and flown all the way across the country to get treatment, but Ian felt bad lying to a surrogate. The guy had given up his body for nine months just so that they could have a baby and... now what? Ian wanted him to abort it? To keep it and give it up for adoption? To keep it for himself? Ian didn’t even know what the fuck to tell the guy. And yet, here he was, ready to meet him with no idea what he was going to say.

            Not that it mattered now that the guy was twenty minutes late and most likely not showing up.

            With a sigh, Ian opened up his phone and called the guy’s number. He waited through three rings and then looked up as he heard a phone go off. A guy had just walked through the door and pulled a phone out of his pocket. Black hair, blue eyes, it was easy to see why Craig thought he should be the other half of their child’s genes. Really easy to see. Tattooed letters marred the man’s knuckles and he bit his bottom lip as he brought the phone to his ear. Ian abruptly hung up, tried to close his mouth before the man started towards him. Bare arms, he had to be freezing in the fall Chicago weather, but he showed no sign of the chill.

            He glanced towards Ian, no hint of a smile, and walked over. “Ian?” he asked and held out his hand. “Mickey.”

            “Right. Hi.”

            Mickey dropped into the seat opposite to Ian and picked a fry off the plate a waitress delivered. “Craig said I was lookin’ for something on fucking fire and I guessed your hair counted, so...” He trailed off with a shit-eating grin. Then he flicked a fry in Ian’s face. “What? You didn’t think your boyfriend had good taste?”

            Ian blinked, cleared his throat. He managed to actually close his mouth but not to get words out as Mickey stared back at him, chewing on a french fry. The letters on his right hand spelled out the word “FUCK.” Well, at least Craig’s general attraction to street trash held no matter the situation.

            The waitress came by again and said, “You want another beer? One for your friend?”

            Mickey smirked. “Are you fucking wasted?”

            “We’re fine,” Ian managed. The split second he spent looking at the waitress got his heart to start again. He met Mickey’s eyes again, calmer, and said, “I had a couple drinks. But I think I can hold my alcohol a little better than that.”

            “You look like a light weight.”

            “I’m Irish.”

            “So you’re just a fucking drunk then?”

            Ian smiled back at him. “Something like that.”

            Mickey licked the salt off his bottom lip. “Where’s Craig?”

            “Craig...” Ian averted his eyes. The sound of bacon frying lit the air and a whoosh of flame went up from one of the pans in the kitchen. His heart had stopped in his chest again and a small voice told him to just tell the fucking truth. Craig had dumped him because he’d been cheating on him. Craig had gone home to California to see his family and recover from the “ordeal.” Craig was gone and they didn’t need the baby anymore. “Couldn’t make it.”

            “Okay,” Mickey said. His eyes dipped back to the plate of fries and he took another. “Haven’t taken a test yet, if that’s what you guys called me about. Doctor said two weeks, so... you know. You’re about eleven days early.”

            “Right. Sorry.”

            “That’s what this is about?”

            Ian nodded. “Definitely. Let me buy you lunch?”

            Mickey shrugged. “Your baby you’re feeding.”

 

Keeping Mickey from drinking was a fucking chore. (Jesus, did Craig vet the guy at all or just pick the first hot guy that came along?) Ian didn’t have the money to bribe him. All Mickey’s fees had been paid up front, by Craig, and Ian couldn’t just call his ex and ask for a couple hundred bucks to bribe their surrogate not to drink.

            Not that Mickey did drink. But he had a ridiculous fondness for getting Ian really fucking drunk _because_ he couldn’t drink. On more than one occasion, Mickey came by the apartment late at night and said, “I really want a drink.”

            The first time, Ian had launched into a huge speech about how alcohol was bad for the baby and Mickey couldn’t have a drink, if not for them and the surrogacy contract, but because did he really want to do that to another human being. Mickey had stared at him through the ten minute speech, then held up a six pack of beers and said, “Well, someone has to drink them.”

            It had quickly become a routine. A routine that made Ian’s charade that much harder to keep up because the more Mickey came around his apartment in the middle of the night, the harder it became to make excuses for why Craig wasn’t there. In the first month of Mickey’s pregnancy, he’d been over late six times, watching Ian drink and insulting the weakness of his Irish genes.

            Ian lost count of how many times he’d flipped him off.

            He’d lost count of how many times he looked over at Mickey and thought _I love you_.

            Tonight was a different issue. Tonight Ian sent up a silent prayer begging God not to send Mickey to his house. Because tonight he was on the phone with Craig, trying to argue his way through a conversation he had no chance of winning.

            “What do you mean you want your money back?” Ian said. “You can’t just ask him for something like that—” He laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m the one asking. You’re not fucking funny, Craig! He still did it. He still went to the fucking clinic. He still—” Ian took a deep breath, held the phone away from his ear for a second. “Yes, I’m aware he’s no longer in our employ for nine months but—”

            There was a knock on the door.

            Ian no longer believed in God.

            He walked to the door, letting Craig rant in his ear. Sure enough, through the peep hole he saw Mickey holding a six pack of beer, leaning up against the wall across the hall.

            “Craig, I can’t do this right now,” Ian whispered. He laid his forehead against the door and took a deep breath. “Because I’m not—” He bit his bottom lip hard enough that he tasted blood. “No. I won’t. If you want your fucking money back, ask him yourself.” Then Ian hung up the phone and threw it halfway across the room.

            He opened the door and said, “Give me a fucking beer.”

            Mickey handed over one of the bottles, his eyes wide for a moment, pliable. Odd. Of all the words Ian would’ve used to describe the guy after a month of knowing him, _pliable_ was not one of them.

            Ian stepped back into the room, waited for Mickey to step inside, and slammed the door after him. He downed half of the beer, took a breath, then swallowed the rest of it. “Still having a hard time with AA?” Ian asked.

            Mickey flipped him off. “This is the price you pay for hiring a Southside thug as a surrogate.”

            “Yeah,” Ian said. “This and about a hundred thousand dollars.”

            Mickey shrugged. He flopped down into a leather armchair, dropped the bottles onto the floor. “Don’t get bitter on me, Gallagher,” he said. “You’re the one with the fancy downtown apartment.”

            The fancy downtown apartment. Yeah. White washed brick, stainless steel appliances, and spotless black leather was Ian’s world now. But it wouldn’t be his world for that much longer. If Craig wanted his money back for the surrogacy, soon he’d want his apartment back too, and then Ian would be back in the Southside with his family. To top it all off, he’d even have a pissed, pregnant thug to deal with too when the whole lie came crashing down around him. He grabbed another beer from the case and popped the cap.

            “Where’s Craig?” Mickey said.

            “We had a fight.”

            Mickey whistled, low. “You sure it’s smart for me to be here? You know, if you had a fight or anything.” Ian didn’t reply as he swallowed most of his beer. He knew he’d feel it in the morning, that Irish genes or not this much alcohol this fast was going to hurt like a bitch. Mickey said, “Hey. You’re fight wasn’t about me comin’ over like this, right? I don’t plan to be here when Craig’s not or anything. I just wanna get paid and get outta your lives, not break up the family I’m starting.”

            “It’s not about you.” Ian dropped onto the couch and twirled the empty beer bottle in his hand. It dropped, slipped between his fingers, and glass shattered on the floor. Mickey didn’t even flinch.

            “What then?”

            “None of your business.”

            “I’ll bring this baby into a happy family or not fucking at all.”

            Ian met Mickey’s eyes, smirked. “You’ll bring this baby into this family for money or not at all.”

            Mickey shrugged. His fingers reached down for a beer bottle, but Ian snatched it out of his hands. The warm liquid ran down his throat, awkwardly bubbly, but he couldn’t find the heart to care. Somewhere in the room his phone buzzed, probably Craig calling again to yell at him some more. Mickey grabbed the remote instead of a beer and turned to a late night talk show.

            After a long minute of Ian sipping beer and the white noise of the TV, Mickey said, “Seriously, man. What the fuck’s up with you and Craig?”

            “Why the fuck do you care?” Ian snapped. His eyes caught on Mickey’s, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “What the fuck do you even know about us?”

            Mickey stared back at him, gaze level. If there was anger in him, any of that Southside anger that had landed him in juvie half a dozen times, he hid it well. “I know Craig’s a fucking dud and he’s always fucking gone and for some reason you’ve got nothing but time to sit around drinking for your surrogate.”

            Ian grunted in response. He tilted back the beer bottle, but it was already empty. Three in the space of ten minutes. He could feel it in his head, in his veins. When he looked at Mickey, the other man was a little bit blurry.

            “Also you can’t hold your fuckin’ liquor.”

            “You really wanna challenge an Irish man to a drinking contest?”

            Mickey smirked. “Soon as I give up this baby, I’ll teach you a thing or two, Gallagher.”

            “Why not right now?”

            “Because—”

            Mickey cut himself off when Ian got off the couch. Ian had two steps to take, but he stumbled on the first one, and had to use the armrests of Mickey’s chair to balance himself. Then he met the man’s blue eyes, tried not to look half as drunk as he felt, and slipped down to straddle him. His fingers curled through Mickey’s black hair, blue eyes bigger up close, bright, and blurrier.

            “Teach me something,” Ian purred. He licked his lips, aware of the liquor on his breath, aware of the way every muscle of Mickey’s body went tense beneath him. “Anything.”

            He closed the space between them with a sloppy kiss. He felt his lips slip off Mickey’s and come down somewhere just above his top lip. Three drinks. Jesus. He was sure he could hold his liquor better than this. One hand on Mickey’s chin, he held it tight and guided their lips together slowly, testing the whole thing out like it was some sort of lab experiment.

            “Ian,” Mickey mumbled against his lips. “Ian—”

            Ian kissed him harder, better than before. He let his fingers on the man’s neck tighten, pressed his body closer to Mickey’s. A moan rumbled across his lips as he rolled his hips, intent on keeping the other man in his place. He released the kiss slowly; his teeth grazed Mickey’s bottom lip. Ian asked, “What?”

            “Umm...”

            That second of hesitation was all Ian needed. He let his lips touch Mickey’s jaw, his neck. The sound of his hesitation morphed into a sound of pleasure that rumbled through his throat and against Ian’s lips.

            Ian grinded against Mickey, slow at first, but worked up speed. His hands slipped under Mickey’s shirt, the skin there cold, no noticeable swell to his belly yet. Ian kissed his lips, pulled at skin with his teeth, felt drunk and dizzy and happy.

            “Jesus, Ian,” Mickey said, and this time his voice sounded sharper. His hands, his nails once boring into Ian’s skin, now pushed at Ian’s hips. Ian slipped off his lap, stumbled back a few steps and hit the coffee table with the back of his heels. Mickey looked up at him, blue eyes cloudy, and rubbed a hand across his lips. “You’re with someone.”

            Ian blinked. It took him a second to remember what Mickey was talking about. “Right.”

            “I’m carrying your baby.”

            “Yeah.”

            “For you and Craig. You know Craig? Blonde guy with a suit fetish?”

            Ian swallowed a laugh and nodded.

            Mickey stood up, kicked broken glass with his toe. “I should go.”

            “Mick—”

            Mickey’s blue eyes stopped him in place, ice. “You had a fight with your boyfriend. You got a little too drunk, a little too fast, and you made a mistake. I won’t tell him and you won’t either. End of story.”

            “Mick.”

            “End. Of. Story.”

            Ian stared at Mickey for a moment and then inclined his head. He listened, his eyes on his feet, as Mickey picked through the glass and exited the apartment. Then, with a deep sigh, Ian sat back on the coffee table and rested his spinning head in his hands.

 

It was two weeks before Ian saw Mickey again. And it wasn’t under good circumstances. Maybe it was Ian’s fault. After all, he had challenged Craig to ask Mickey for his money back himself and then not taken his calls for five days. Really, after two years of dating, you’d think he’d know the guy well enough to know when he’d suck it up and take a fucking challenge. But apparently, the only time Craig had ever chosen to take a challenge in his life was now.

            So after three days of dodging Mickey’s calls, Fiona had finally taken Ian’s phone off the counter and arranged a meeting herself. Because, of course, Craig had also finally found his balls long enough to kick Ian out of his apartment. At least he had somewhat expected that.

            Fiona had made him take the meeting at the diner where she worked, probably so she could make sure he wasn’t drinking on his meds. But his meds made him groggy, fuzzy, and he wasn’t even allowed coffee to fix that. Living with Fiona meant living on his meds, she had made that perfectly clear, but it was also a perfectly fucking stupid decision when he had to deal with a pissed pregnant thug.

            Mickey actually bothered to be somewhat on time for this meeting. He walked through the door fuming, spotted Ian with fire in his eyes. And that fire, well, it woke Ian up a bit. Shot through the clouds in his mind and made him remember being on top of Mickey, kissing him with alcohol wet lips. He sat up a bit straighter and managed not to jump when Mickey’s fist hit the table.

            “What the fuck,” Mickey said, “were you thinking?”

            Ian stared into blue eyes. Maybe it was the meds, maybe it was the lack of caffeine, maybe it was just the fact that he had nothing else to say. But he settled on the truth. “I love you.”

            Mickey blinked. “What?”

            Ian shrugged. “It was stupid, but it’s true.”

            Mickey licked his lips and Ian couldn’t help but follow the line of his tongue. “Let me get this straight,” Mickey said. “I’ve been carrying around a baby that no one fucking wants for nearly two months because you were fucking horny the day you were supposed to tell me about it?”

            For a moment, Ian was at a loss for words. “No... I love you.”

            “You fall down a flight of fucking stairs?” Mickey asked. “You don’t know anything about me.”

            “Mick—”

            “I’m only here to tell you I’m gettin’ an abortion.”

            Ian blinked. “What?”

            Mickey shrugged. “No one wants this fucking baby, so I’m not keeping it.”

            “I want it.”

            “Can you pay me?”

            Ian shook his head.

            “Then I’m not keeping it.”

            Ian stared at him for a long moment, his brain struggling to catch up to the conversation. Then he swirled his tea cup in the saucer, a loud rattle, and nodded. “Okay,” Ian said.

            Mickey hesitated, then got to his feet. Ian watched him walk away and listened to the echo of the bell over the door.

 

A month passed before Ian saw Mickey again. By then his meds had balanced out, he had a job, and most of the time Fiona didn’t even spend the day nagging him. But it was still hard to see Mickey in the diner, stabbing pancakes like nothing was wrong.

            Ian walked out from the kitchen, even though he wasn’t supposed to, intent on actually apologizing now that his head was on straight. But as he came around the bend, he noticed that Mickey’s stomach had swelled since the last time he saw him. And he doubted even Mickey’s ability to gain a beer gut that fast.

            “Mick...” Ian began.

            Mickey looked up at him. He said, “Maybe I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

            Ian slipped into the seat next to him and kissed him.


	20. Runaways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After Ian ran away at the end of season four, Mickey found out he was pregnant. He ran away to keep the baby. Four months later Mandy calls and tells him that Ian has shown up in the same city as him. Mickey goes to find Ian.

“Mickey,” Mandy said. She sounded breathless, static through the phone line. Mickey’s heart immediately picked up pace, worried that something had happened to her. “Thank god.”

            “What’s wrong?” Mickey asked. He had frozen on his way to the fridge, now stood stock still in the middle of his tiny bachelor apartment. The cord on the phone would give out on him soon, sooner than he could get to the fridge, but he’d thought he’d be able to drop it for a second to grab some milk and come back to the conversation. No such luck. Mandy’s call was clearly not her customary Sunday morning call. When she didn’t respond, he prodded, “Mandy?”

            “Sorry,” she said. There were voices behind her that Mickey couldn’t make out. “I need your help.”

            “Anything.” His heart dropped into his stomach.

            “It’s about Ian.”

            Mickey’s eyes shut as he dragged a hand across his face. Licking his lips, he considered letting the phone drop anyways. Yeah, it was his fault Ian had disappeared. He had fucking married someone else. But when Mickey had found out he was pregnant, well, his self-hatred had turned into hatred of Ian because it was Ian’s fucking fault that he was sober and in goddamned Springfield.

            “What about Ian?” Mickey asked.

            “We found him.”

            Mickey’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. “You... found him?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Where?”

            There was a long silence on the line, then Mandy said, “He’s in Springfield. A strip club called _Secret Ecstasy._ We think he works there.”

            “We?”

            “Lip and Debbie found him after some army officers came looking,” Mandy said. Her voice shook around the words and she took a breath to steady herself. “They came to ask if maybe I wanted to drive down to Springfield with them but... since you’re there already, I thought... maybe you’d want to get him? Tell him?”

            Mickey swore. “Do they know?”

            “No, I didn’t tell them. I just... I said you moved.”

            For a long moment, Mickey stared at the dingy tile floor that sat under the small section of the apartment that held his kitchen. Under his feet, grubby carpet rubbed between his toes. The whole place was a rat hole, no place to raise a baby, but it was all he could afford.

            “You want me to go see him?”

            “Yeah.”

            “He doesn’t want me, Mands. He... he fucking ran away to get away from me.”

            “Just save the Gallaghers some gas, Mick,” Mandy snapped. “And tell me if my best friend is fucking okay, all right?”

            “Should you really be yelling at me right now?”

            “Doctor didn’t say I couldn’t be a bitch to you.” The dial tone sounded in his ear and Mickey had to smile as he hung up the phone.

 

Looking good while pregnant was a hard thing to do. Or at least it was when Mickey hadn’t bothered to get any real pregnancy clothes yet. He buttoned his black shirt around the small swell of his belly and kept his belt loose to give himself some room. It was a struggle to get the button closed, but he did his best.

            Then he headed out into the Springfield winter to go downtown to a gay strip club. Because, of course, Ian couldn’t work as a waiter at a fucking normal strip club or just at a bar. He had to get on the stage himself and take his clothes off and let every gay guy in all of Illinois come and watch.

            The thought worried Mickey. As mad as he was to have to run this errand, the thought of Ian working for a strip club was a weird one. Sure, he’d been better with being gay than Mickey had, better with his body, and he was hot as all hell, but the guy had wanted to serve his country. And since the army had been asking about him and now he was here... Mickey couldn’t help but feel like all the blame rested on his shoulders.

            He took a deep breath and walked in the doors of _Secret Ecstasy._ Music assaulted his ears and three people bumped into him before he took three steps. Grumbling swears, he walked further into the room, looking for a shock of red hair and fucking giant of a boy.

            What he didn’t expect was to see Ian dressed all in black, a feather boa around his neck, grinding against some old guy. Anger gripped Mickey and, before he reminded himself that he had no right and this was Ian’s fucking job for some godforsaken reason, he grabbed Ian by the wrist and pulled him away from the geezer. When the guy had the audacity to complain, Mickey fixed him with a glare that shut up people a hell of a lot stronger than him.

            “What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked Ian, who looked at him with a cloudy smile.

            “Mick,” Ian said, his voice high and sing-song. “You came for a dance.”

            “No, I didn’t—” Mickey was pushed back onto a couch. Ian slipped his boa off and around Mickey’s neck. “Ian, I need to talk to you.”

            “So talk,” he purred, lowering himself onto Mickey’s lap.

            “Your family’s worried about you,” Mickey said. He tried to catch Ian’s eyes, but they were dangerously unfocussed. “Ian. They said there were army guys lookin’ for you. They want you to go back home.”

            “Hmm.” Ian turned around and ran his ass up the length of Mickey’s thighs. Mickey sighed, waited for him to turn around so he could try again. Then Ian bumped up against his belly and he laughed. When he turned, there was a touch of a sparkle in his dead eyes. “Only been four months, Mick. You get fat on me already?”

            “Fuck you.”

            Ian faced him, a sour smile on his face. “You can for a price.”

            “What the fuck, Ian?”

            “Just for some cash.”

            “Ian,” Mickey snapped.

            Ian slid off of him, yawning. “That was nice,” he said.

            Mickey watched him walk away, still stunned that any of that interaction had happened at all. He stood, took two steps after Ian, yelled his name, and a second later a security guy was on him, pushing him out the door. “What the fuck, man?”

            “Ian said you were bothering him.”

            “Bothering him? Like fucking hell I was—” Mickey swallowed his complaint as the doors slammed in his face. His breath pooled white in the winter air, but instead of leaving he paced in front of the building, rubbing his hands together. It was hours before the club closed, probably longer until the staff came out, and if Ian really had complained then security would put him down before he got close to him again. But he had to try. If Ian was that fucked up, going home with guys for money, then he had to fucking try.

            He waited four hours for Ian to come out of the club and was relieved when he came out alone, counting money. Ian looked up and saw Mickey there, barely reacted. For all intents and purposes, he was dead to the world.

            Mickey sighed. “Come on, man. Let me take you home.” He held out his hand to Ian, watched the boy stumble as he stared at his fingers. Then Ian almost collapsed to the sidewalk and Mickey stepped in to support him, the strain of the giant hard on his back. But he pushed through it, caught a cab, and headed home.

 

“Jesus god,” Ian said.

            Mickey looked over at him from the kitchen. He was eating a bowl of oatmeal, watching Ian as he rolled into wakefulness.

            “I just had the weirdest fucking trip,” Ian said. He rolled over. “I thought that...” He trailed off as his green eyes, lucid but missing something vital to their usual presence, landed on Mickey. “I thought _you_ fucking showed up. Am I still high?”

            Mickey swallowed. “Depends how good your coke is.”

            Ian squinted, shook his head, as if Mickey was just a sun spot he could get rid of. “Not that good, apparently.” He sat up in the bed, shifted to get his clothes unwrinkled. Slowly, he looked around the apartment before he landed back on Mickey. “Where the fuck am I?”

            “My place.”

            “Your place?” Ian whistled. “You finally got out?”

            “Had to.”

            “Why?”

            Mickey looked down into his empty bowl. He scraped his spoon across the length, used the sound to distract from his rushing thoughts. He set the bowl down in the sink and looked back up at Ian, chewed on his bottom lip. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

            “Yeah? Get a divorce?”

            “I’m pregnant.”

            The smug hurt on Ian’s face got wiped off by shock. His eyes, suddenly wide, refused to blink for a solid minute. Then he choked out, “What?”

            “You know. That thing that happens when you forget to wear a condom.”

            “Sorry for not thinking of it when you were about to get fucking married,” Ian snapped.

            Mickey sighed. “Look, you’re not here to fight with me. You’re here because your family’s fucking worried about you and I told them I’d check it out. And then you were high as a fucking kite, so I decided not to leave your unconscious ass in the snow.”

            “You want me to thank you?”

            “Fuck off.”

            Ian swallowed a sigh and hung his head. After a long moment of silence, he said, “You got a shower?”

            Mickey pointed it out and then watched Ian walk away. His stomach turned, either a return of his morning sickness or a visceral reaction to his ex not giving a damn about their baby. He hoped it was the first. He’d already set up the adoption agency, the people he wanted to give the thing to, and it’d be out of his life in five months. Five months and he could go back to Chicago, get Mandy, and they’d start their life scot free in Springfield. All he needed to make it work was for Ian to go back home and go the fuck to rehab.

            He settled down on the bed and turned on the TV. Static flared through the speakers as he flipped to a channel playing football reruns. He listened to the sound of the shower more than he listened to the announcers. When the shower shut off, it was only a minute before the door opened and Ian said, “You’re pregnant?”

            Mickey glanced over his shoulder. Ian was still wet from the shower, a towel in his ear but none around his waist. Mickey said, “Yeah,” his voice a little weaker than he’d like it to be.

            “Huh,” Ian said.

 

Five of the worst weeks of Mickey’s life followed that day. He had to take off time from work to drive Ian back up to Chicago and it took him three days to even convince Ian that going back to see his family was necessary. Then it took Fiona the weekend to think he needed to see a doctor, another week to fight Ian on it, and three more days to get in to see a doctor at the free clinic. A week where Ian’s med settled and then a week of arguments over the baby. Ian wanted to keep it. Mickey wanted it gone.

            “It’s not your fucking choice,” Mickey snapped. “I got the people. I got the papers. Leave it the fuck alone, Ian.”

            “I want the baby,” Ian said. “I want to raise it. I want us to be a family.”

            “A family? Are we even fucking together right now?” Mickey said. “I dropped you off, I helped Fiona out for a bit, and now you come down whenever you can to yell at me. You think that’s a relationship we should bring a kid into?”

            “Mick—”

            “Don’t. You were fucking gone. I took care of it.”

            Ian glared at him. “You left me first. You’re the reason we’re not together anymore.”

            “Good,” Mickey said. “Then let’s give this baby parents that are together.”

            And then followed the week Ian didn’t talk to him. The week that Mickey first felt the baby move in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep and he was overtaken by a wave of sadness that it would never move in his arms. The week that he saw the adoptive parents for the second time, smiled all the way through the meeting, told them nothing about his ex who wanted the baby for himself. His ex who had a genetic disease that might be passed on to the baby. That last week was the worst of Mickey’s life.

            Mainly because on the last day of that week he got a text from Ian that said, simply, _Can I argue with you again?_ and Mickey made the call. The call that told two people, two wonderful people who deserved a fucking kid, that they weren’t going to get his baby. His baby was his and Ian’s and he would fight to keep it.

            So he texted back, _Nope. You won._

_Let’s be a family._


	21. In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey trying to hide his pregnancy from Ian

Mickey woke late Wednesday morning. And maybe if that had been the only change, the only real difference he noticed, he wouldn’t have been worried at all. But he woke late, after going to bed early, with a dull headache and pain shooting down his spine. For some reason, he really wanted bacon.

            His head spun as he got to his feet. He placed a hand against the wall and shuffled out into the living room. Pans rattled in the kitchen and Mandy stood in front of the stove, eye level with the burner, trying to get it to light through sheer force of will. Mickey burped when he opened the fridge and she shot him a look.

            “Beer isn’t breakfast,” she said.

            “Tell that to dad,” Mickey said. But his fingers felt sticky against the beer bottle, his heart beat unevenly. He let his hand drop down a shelf and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Are you happy?”

            Mandy faked a smile. “Ecstatic.”

            “Things been broken for days,” Mickey said. He dropped down at the kitchen table and shifted overdue bills out of his way. Juice spurted out the top of the carton when he slammed it down. “You’re not gonna get it to work without a lighter.”

            “Yeah, if you want it to fucking explode,” Mandy replied.

            “Why do you need it anyways?” Mickey reached for one of the Chinese food boxes on the table. Sniffing the contents, he determined it probably wasn’t poison and hooked a finger around slimy noodles.

            The click of the stove sounded behind him and Mandy’s breath ceased to fill the room with its heaviness. After a moment, she mumbled a curse under her breath. “There’s some stupid bake sale for the New York trip and if you contribute, then you get a portion of the profits towards your ticket.”

            “Dad’ll never let you go,” Mickey said. “And shouldn’t you be using the fucking oven for that?”

            “Ian wants to go.”

            Mickey froze, noodles halfway to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe and said, “So? Tell him to use his own fucking oven.”

            “He asked if we could do it here.”

            “Tell him our stove is broken,” Mickey snapped. He turned on Mandy and she stared back at him, eyes wide with shock. “And then go the fuck over to his house and bake his fucking muffins there.”

            “This is my house too, you know.”

            Mickey snorted. “You don’t even know that you bake in the fucking oven, not on the stove. What fucking good are you gonna be helpin’ him out?”

            “Then maybe you should do it,” Mandy snapped. “You can tell him what ingredients to use and how to mix ‘em. Walk up behind him and whisper the instructions in his ear. Maybe even teach him how to hold a fuckin’ spoon.”

            For a long moment, Mickey just stared at her. He was on his feet and he stepped towards her instead of towards his room. She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, just glared up at him. “What the fuck,” Mickey said, his voice soft, “do you think you’re talkin’ about?”

            “You think I’m scared of you?”

            “Maybe you should be.”

            “I’ll make a fucking note.”

            Mickey stayed there for a moment, his breath coming too fast, then stepped back. “Whatever,” he said. “Just stay the fuck out of my way.” He slammed the door to his bedroom, leaned back against it and sunk to the ground.

 

Maybe he wouldn’t have known at all if it hadn’t happened before. But it had and he’d done what he’d always done when some loser he’d found in an alleyway had ripped through a condom. He picked up the phone, he dialed the number, and by the end of the day the problem was gone. Simple. Easy. His dad never had to know.

            His hand shook against the phone now. The numbers, bumped plastic, shuddered in his vision, blurry. It was just ten fucking numbers, a phone call, two pills. He’d done it before and no doubt he would do it again.

            The door to his room opened and Mickey looked up, quick to blink back tears. Ian stood framed in the doorway, nervous as always. “I, uhh, the bathroom...” He pointed towards the other door and Mickey stared at him.

            “Just shut the fucking door,” he said.

            Ian leaned back against the doorknob and waited for the click as it closed. Clearing his throat, he moved to take off his shirt and Mickey stared at him blankly. Ian’s eyes met his and the redhead froze for a moment, one arm out of his shirt, a strip of skin visible between his jeans and the raised hem of his shirt. “You okay, Mick?”

            “The fuck do you care?” Mickey snapped.

            Ian hesitated, his lips moving around words he had no sound to form.

            “Come here,” Mickey said.

            He watched Ian walk over and, when he was close enough, Mickey grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to his lips. He kissed him hungrily, like an alcoholic who’d been sober five minutes. Lying back, he took Ian with him, let the other boy crawl down on top of him, his lips smooth and more experienced, coaxing Mickey to kiss a little gentler, with more precision.

            But Mickey couldn’t care less about precision or gentleness. He cared about stopping his thoughts, steadying his breath, and being able to dial the phone in ten minutes. He cared about getting Ian Gallagher out of his system so that he wouldn’t have to feel fucking bad about aborting his goddamned stupid baby. He cared about forgetting just about everything in his entire life.

            “Whoa, Mick,” Ian said. Mickey pulled back, tasted blood on his tongue. His head hit the wall when he let it fall back and he looked up at Ian with bleary eyes. Ian had a slight smile on his lips and his fingers traced the line of Mickey’s jaw. “Slow down a bit, would you?”

            “Mandy’s waiting for you,” Mickey said.

            Ian’s smile faded. “You sure you’re all right?”

            “Fuckin’ fine. You gonna fuck me or not?”

            “Mick...”

            “Get the fuck off me,” Mickey snapped. He pushed Ian backwards and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian stumble back, but he didn’t leave the room. Why couldn’t he just fucking leave?

            “You don’t seem okay.”

            “Even if I wasn’t okay,” Mickey said, “what the fuck makes you think I would tell you?”

            Ian flinched and his eyes fell from Mickey’s face. He shrugged back into his shirt and headed out of the room, left the door ajar. Mickey stared out into the hallway, listened to his footsteps and the muffled conversation he had with Mandy. A few minutes later, she shuffled down the hallway and knocked on his door.

            “What?” he asked, even though he knew why she was there.

            Mandy poked her head through the door crack, her eyes sad. “Want me to come this time?”

            “Can you call?”

            She nodded and closed the door.

 

Mickey sat at the edge of the dugout, spun his unopened beer in his hand. The stars were bright above him, high in the heavens, and he had no fucking clue why he was there. Mandy had called the clinic, she had walked with him all the way there, and for some reason he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fucking do it.

            The beer was so he could try it the old-fashioned way. Drink the baby out. Or maybe he’d go home and say, _hey dad, I’m pregnant_ , and then they could get really old-fashioned, like the way his dad had reacted when his mom got pregnant at a bad time. ‘Course, every time was a bad time in the Milkovich house, so it was a miracle any of the kids had survived.

            At most, he had two and a half months to suck it up and get it over with. At least... he had no idea. Given when Ian and he had started out, he could have as little as two weeks before he started to show.

            The fence rattled and he looked up to see Ian jump over the top, a brilliant smile on his face. Mickey tried to glare at him, but managed nothing worse than a blank look. “Hey,” Ian said. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. “I saw you and I thought... Look, if I ask you again are you gonna yell at me?”

            “Probably,” Mickey said. He offered Ian the beer and he took it. The top popped with a satisfying hiss as Mickey ran his tongue along with top lip. Ian tilted his head back as he drank. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

            “Sure,” Ian said. He offered the beer back but Mickey shook his head.

            “How would you feel about having a baby?”

            Ian blinked. “I’m sixteen.”

            “Right.”

            “Mick,” Ian said, his voice suddenly serious. “Are you pregnant?”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Mick—”

            “I said fuck off, it was a just question,” Mickey said. He grabbed the beer from Ian and took a long gulp, felt it bubble all the way down his throat. The can bent in his grip, too tight, and Mickey knew he had to get his anger under control. “What are you doing here?”

            “Fiona sent me to the store. I took a shortcut.”

            Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him, but didn’t look up.

            “You wanna come?” Ian asked.

            “Yeah, sure.”

 

The doctor gave him three weeks. And in those three weeks, Mickey dialed half of the phone number thirty-nine times. Thirty-nine times he chickened out, threw the phone at the wall. At least he was getting better at that. There were only twenty-seven dents in the wall.

            Ian was still worried. It was hard not to let him worry. A little before the end of Mickey’s three weeks, Ian was on top of him, his hands slow against Mickey’s chest. His fingers paused on the ridge of Mickey’s belly and his lips froze. “Mick,” he whispered. The vibration of the word rumbled through Mickey’s skin. “Remember a couple of weeks ago, I asked...”

            “Yeah,” Mickey breathed. He blinked open his eyes and met Ian’s gaze, nervous and a little amazed as his fingers played across Mickey’s belly. “Yeah.”

            Ian stared, dipped his eyes to Mickey’s belly and pulled back enough to stare at the slight swell of Mickey’s belly. He spread his hands over it, careful, feather light. “Mick...” he whispered.

            “I couldn’t,” Mickey said, suddenly desperate to get the explanation in before Ian asked him to do anything. “I tried. I fucking tried. Mandy drove me to the fucking clinic and I... I couldn’t.”

            Their eyes met again and Mickey knew that whatever turmoil he felt, it was clear in his face, in the shake in his voice. Ian nodded, steady. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. He leaned down and kissed Mickey softly. “We’ll figure it out.” 


	22. The Sperm Donor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian donated his sperm to the private clinic where his sister works. Months later, she tells Ian that his sperm was used by Mickey who wants to become parent and he broke up with his boyfriend because he was violent. One day, they eat together and they meet Mickey who is with his ex, and Ian defends him. They start dating and they fall in love.

“So, funny story,” Fiona said, half of her sandwich still in her mouth. Ian looked up at her, his lips pursed tight around laughter. With her fingers, she stuffed the bread back into her mouth. “Some guy comes into the clinic yesterday and asks for a refund.”

            Ian gave her a look. Swallowing, he said, “A refund? What happened?”

            She shrugged. “Guess he didn’t want the baby anymore or something. I told him to take it up with the clinic that inseminated him.”

            “Kinda a shitty story.”

            “Only told you because it was your sperm.”

            Ian winced, nearly dropped his sandwich back onto his plate. The noise of the diner covered his grunt well enough, but Fiona still looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “I told you I didn’t want to know about that shit.”

            She held her hands up in surrender. “Thought you’d wanna know. Waste of your product.”

            He chucked a fry at her. “I only did it ‘cause we needed the money.”

            With a soft smile, she nodded. “Just thought you’d wanna know. He was pretty cute.”

            Ian stared at her. “Now you’re setting me up with guys I’ve already impregnated?”

            “Can’t break up with them over accidental pregnancies that way.”

            Ian rolled his eyes and went back to nibbling on his fries. Despite himself, he wanted to ask more about the guy. He wanted to know if he was actually going to have an abortion. Because, if he did, it was no longer anything Ian needed to worry about. No kid of his equaled no reason to think about it. “He really didn’t say what happened?”

            Fiona shrugged. “He was pretty beat up. Maybe he decided he wasn’t in a good place to be having a kid. Smart decision, if you ask me.”

            “Why?”

            “He was your age, twenty-two.” She nibbled on a fry and lost herself looking out the window. “Kinda young for kids.”

            Ian smiled. “You had five by the time you were nineteen.”

            Her smile was fake, but they both dropped the topic to finish their lunch. Ian swirled through thoughts of the man carrying his baby and played with his water glass. He didn’t look up again until there was a commotion at the breakfast bar, a guy standing up and shouting.

            “Can you really not even do that right?” the guy shouted. “It’s not that fucking hard now, is it?”

            On a stool in front of him perched a smaller man, but by no means a man who couldn’t fight back. He had purpled bruises on his face and tattoos on his knuckles. He bit his bottom lip, sat stiff, with his fists curled. Blue eyes looked up at the shouting man, dry but secretly terrified.

            “Shit,” Ian muttered.

            “Don’t,” Fiona warned.

            Ian gave her a look and got to his feet. He blanked on the words the man was shouting, no longer important, and stepped between the two men. Looking up at the shouting man, he said, “Is there a problem here?”

            The man spat. “None of your business.”

            Ian stared at him for a long moment and then turned to the man on the stool. Blue eyes looked up at him, relieved. “You need any help?” Ian asked.

            The blue-eyed man shrugged. “I can handle myself.”

            Ian couldn’t help but smile and his smile elicited one from the other man. Licking his lips, Ian turned back to the shouting man and said, “You know what, how about you get out of here, and I won’t find a reason to cause any trouble, all right?”

            The shouting man smirked and poked Ian in the chest. “You think you can take me, pretty boy?”

            Ian raised an eyebrow. “I grew up around here. Born and raised. You lay a hand on me, there isn’t a guy in this diner who isn’t on my side in this fight, okay? So do I think I can take you?” Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. But are you willing to find out what happens if I can’t?”

            The man leaned around Ian to look at the blue eyed man. “This isn’t over.”

            Ian shuffled over. “Yeah. It is.”

            The two stared at each other until the shouting man huffed, left. Ian turned around to the blue-eyed man and found him glaring at him. He said, “I had that handled.”

            “I just wanted to help.”

            “Well, fuck you,” the man said. “I don’t need your help, all right?”

            Ian stepped back, his hands raised in a fake motion of surrender. With a sigh, he settled back in his seat across from Fiona, who was staring across the diner at the man he had just saved. “What?” Ian said. “Are you going to try to set me up with him now too?”

            “Already did.”

            Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Okay, I know I’m bad with faces, but I definitely never dated him.”

            Fiona chewed on a fry. “He’s the guy from the clinic.”

            “He’s...” Ian blinked at her, looked back at the man. He pointed at the man, uncomprehending. “He’s... carrying my baby?”

            “And you didn’t even have to fuck him.”

            “That’s the fun part.” Ian said, his eyes still on the other man. He tried to see a swell to his belly, a kindness that would make him understand why such an asshole would want a baby. Or, he supposed, want to get rid of one already inside of him. He hesitated momentarily before saying, “Give me a second,” and getting up from the table.

            He walked back over to the man, took a deep breath, and slid onto the stool beside him. The guy gave him a look. “What? You want a fucking plaque or something?” he asked.

            Ian shook his head. “I was just... wondering. Maybe I could ask you something?”

            The man scanned him for a second. “Sure.”

            “Why the baby?”

            “What?”

            “My sister,” Ian said, gesturing vaguely to where Fiona sat behind them, “works at the clinic where you got inseminated. Funny story, my sperm. Umm...” He paused, thrown by the look on the other man’s face. Maybe he should have thought more about this before going through with it. “I just, I want to know. Especially if you want to get rid of it now.”

            The man licked his lips. “The guy you scared away? That used to be my boyfriend and I finally got the nerve up to leave him so...” He shrugged. “It’s not like I don’t want the baby. It’s just that I’m not sure I can take care of it by myself, you know?”

            “What if I helped?” Ian asked.

            “You don’t even know my name.”

            “I’m Ian.”

            “Mickey.”

            “And it is my baby.”

            Mickey snorted. “You’re insane.”

            “Let me buy you coffee,” Ian insisted. He signalled to the waitress behind the counter and waited for Mickey to protest. But the other man simply looked at him, blue eyes following the curve of Ian’s jaw, and Ian smiled brightly. Maybe this could be a good thing.


	23. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey gets pregnant and Terry finds out and wants him to abort but Ian and Mickey wanna keep the twins and Ian comes up with a plan.

Ian inhaled sharply at the sight on the ultrasound screen. True, he had no idea what the fuck he was looking at, but he was pretty sure somewhere in the blue static was his baby. He glanced down at Mickey, ready to wince away from a glare at how fucking cheesy he was being, but Mickey looked just as breathless as he did.

            “Mick,” Ian said.

            “Fuck off.”

            Ian covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing, felt tears brim in his eyes. The doctor pointed to the screen, outlined the baby’s head and feet, head and feet. Twice. “Twins?” Ian said.

            The doctor nodded. “There’s two heartbeats.”

            Ian met Mickey’s eyes, wide with shock. The doctor excused herself and the door to the room slammed behind her. Mickey breathed out, “Fuck.”

            “Fuck?”

            “It was gonna be impossible to hide from my dad when it was one,” Mickey said. He shook his head, scrambled to get off the bed. Ian grabbed his arm, steadied him as he got to his feet in the flimsy hospital gown. “And twins? I’ll be the size of a fucking truck. And you think we can feed twins?”

            “Mick—”

            “No. What the fuck am I supposed to do about this?”

            Ian squeezed his hand, tight, tried to slow him down long enough to get him to look in his eyes. When he did, Ian said, “We. What are we going to do. And what we’re going to do is come up with a plan, okay?”

            Mickey shook his head. “It’s too hard.”

            “You wanna keep them, don’t you?”

            Mickey was silent for a long moment. Ian’s stomach hung weightless in his chest and he readied himself for the drop. Then, slowly, Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna keep them.”

            Ian nodded. “Then we’ll come up with a plan.” He pulled Mickey’s wrist, wrapped his arms around him in an awkward hug. Then Mickey squeezed him tighter, nuzzled his head into his shoulder. Ian let go of his held breath, sunk into the feeling of his boyfriend wrapped around him.

 

Ian spent most of the next day curled over the kitchen table, doodling on a yellow legal pad. He had no idea how to get around the money issue, less of an idea how to get around the Terry issue. Money was always tight, but the Gallaghers always scraped by. He had no doubt that he and Mickey could do the same. If Terry killed him first, it might be harder.

            Fiona walked into the kitchen, in a rush, as always. Ian said, “Can I ask you something?”

            “Make it quick.” Orange juice sloshed as she pulled it out of the fridge. Liquid dripped down her bare legs and she swore. “Or not.” She stripped her jeans shorts, threw them into the washer. She wiped juice off with her fingers and then sucked liquid between her lips.

            “What would you... I mean, how...” Ian trailed off, screwed up his face. Fiona raised an eyebrow at him. “Hypothetically, if I got a guy pregnant—”

            “Abort.”

            “If I didn’t want to.”

            “Why the hell wouldn’t you?”

            Ian shrugged. “What if... we’re in love?”

            “You’re fifteen.”

            Ian licked his lips, tried hard not to sigh. “Hypothetically. I got a guy pregnant and we want to keep the baby. What would I do?”

            “Financially?” Fiona sat down beside him at the table, pulled the pad of paper towards her. Her finger traced over the doodle of an alien. “Well, depending on who we’re talkin’ about, you two either live here or at his place, but you take care of the baby yourselves. Daycare’s pretty expensive, but you could go to one of those teen pregnancy schools, and then that’s all taken care of. You’d give up most of what you buy on your salary to buy diapers, formula, all that shit. Hopefully he’s got a job too and can pitch in. What you don’t do is drop out of school.”

            “And what if... that’s not an option?”

            “Staying in school?” Fiona snorted. “I’d take care of your baby before I let you drop out.”

            “No. Staying here or at his place.”

            “Why?”

            Ian shrugged, tried to think of a good lie. “Maybe his dad’s a dick and would kill him.” He met Fiona’s eyes, an instant mistake. Fiona went from casually tracing the alien to frozen still, her muscles tense, her teeth on her bottom lip.

            “Ian,” she said slowly, “who the fuck did you knock up?”

            “Mickey Milkovich.”

            Fiona cursed. She wiped a hand across her lips and looked out the window. With a helpless shrug, she said, “I’m gonna have to go back to abort.”

            “He can’t. We can’t. It’s too... Fi, it’s too hard.”

            Fiona grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I know, kid. I do. I know. But... you wanna take on Terry Milkovich over a kid that’s gonna be in high school before you’re thirty? You wanna ruin your life on the off chance that Mickey survives long enough to give birth to this kid?”

            “Two kids.”

            “Twins?”

            Ian nodded.

            Fiona pursed her lips tight to stop from cursing again. Patting Ian’s hand, she pulled back from the table and said, “I’m going to make some calls and get you both down to the clinic tomorrow, okay?”

            “Fi—”

            “Think of something better and I won’t.”

            Ian hesitated, then nodded.

 

Ian dragged his feet the whole way to the Milkovich house. He didn’t want to have to tell Mickey about the clinic, beg him to understand he’d be there the whole time, holding his hand. He didn’t want to give Mickey another reason to pull away from him, to spit in his face. Just liking each other was so new that he didn’t know where to go after an abortion.

            He heard shouting three houses down. The words were indistinguishable, but Terry’s drunken slur was recognizable. With a curse, Ian started running, reached the front porch just as Mickey stumbled out the front door. A fresh bruise, bright red, formed around his eye. He clutched Ian’s arm.

            Through the door, Ian could see Mandy with a bat in her hands. She tapped it against her palms, shaking. Her words taunted her dad, dared him to try her, just to _fucking try her._ Ian wanted to step forward, help her, but Mickey was already dragging him to the sidewalk, breath heavy.

            “You okay?” Ian asked, even as he glanced back to look for Mandy.

            “He wants to beat them out of me,” Mickey gasped. He spit on the sidewalk. “Fucking asshole.”

            Ian hesitated as they stumbled down the street, away from the house. Suddenly he blurted, “Fiona’s gonna take us to the clinic.”

            “What?” Mickey said. “No. I already said no.”

            “Look, Mick, with your dad—”

            “He knows. I’m already fucking dead, okay?” Mickey looked into his eyes, blue desperate, almost teary. His grip on Ian’s arm tightened as they slowed. “I can’t give up the twins. Please Ian.”

            Ian nodded. “Yeah, okay. We’ll think of something.”

 

Having Mickey sleep in his bed maybe wasn’t the best solution, but it was the quickest. Carl grumbled for a bit but left it alone when Lip hit him over the head with a pillow. The three oldest Gallaghers were on constant watch for Terry and his attack force. The neighbourhood was oddly quiet, had been for days, and everyone was starting to get antsy.

            Lip came up with several solutions, none of which seemed as time sensitive as they should be. Debbie’s solution required more money than they had on hand and Carl’s required far too many explosions. Ian himself spent most of his time doodling, knowing all his solutions would be either to shoot Terry or run. Mickey stayed silent, watched the Gallaghers move, distinctly uncomfortable in their house.

            When it came down to it, Fiona was the one who came up with a plan. Late one evening, she slipped into place at the kitchen table across from Ian and Mickey and said, “Okay. I just got off the phone with Clayton.”

            Ian blinked. “Uncle Clayton?”

            “Yeah. He’s willing to take you two in for a while.”

            “How long’s a while?”

            She shrugged. “Probably until his wife kicks you out. But he’s ready to transfer you both into school down there, it’s a nice neighbourhood Terry won’t go near, and he’s willing to vouch for you at any job you want.” She quieted for a moment and then took Ian’s hand, squeezed hard. “I’m gonna miss you.”

            Ian nodded. He looked at Mickey, nudged him in the ribs. “You good with this?”

            Mickey nodded.

            “Guess we’re going to Clayton’s.”

            Fiona faked a smile, squeezed his hand again, then got up from the table. In a second, she was going over what they needed to pack and details of their trip. Two days passed like that, her in a frenzy, Mickey silent, and Ian stuck between them in an endless ping pong match that Mickey didn’t seem to be playing. They were about to pile into the car on the way to Clayton’s when Mickey finally broke his silence.

            “What about Mandy?” he said.

            Fiona and Ian exchanged a look. Ian said, “We didn’t clear that.”

            “I’m just supposed to leave her with him?”

            Lip stepped forward, slapped Mickey on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of her, okay? We gotta free bed now, so... she’s safe.” The two stared at each other for a long moment and then Mickey nodded.

            Mickey slid into the car and Ian slid in after him. Fiona jumped in the driver’s seat and Ian turned to wave at his siblings, all of them waiting on the curb. He turned back around once they were out of sight and squeezed Mickey’s hand. “We’re gonna be okay now,” he said.


	24. Nine Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 5+1 style. 5 times Mickey woke up Ian at unfortunate times for stupid things like food, sex, water, being sick etc, & the 1 time Ian was going through his low lows & didn't help or was at work. Angst that's slightly happy would feel nice.

Mickey knew he should be happy Ian was asleep. Normally he was happy when Ian was asleep, happier when he woke up at a decent time in the morning. But as he stared down at his boyfriend, already on his third cigarette, he couldn’t help wishing that Ian was awake. Awake and happy to see him.

            He kicked at Ian’s ankles, just to see how deep asleep he was. The other man grumbled half-heartedly. Mickey rolled over and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, then another. Words unintelligible, Ian grumbled again. Mickey ran his hand down the length of Ian’s back, fingers light, and kissed his shoulder blade.

            “Mick,” Ian mumbled. “I have to get up in the morning.”

            Another kiss, then Mickey said, “Yeah. Sure.”

            “You gonna get off me?”

            “Just a second.” Mickey pressed three kisses across Ian’s shoulders, grabbed a handful of his ass. Ian groaned and Mickey smiled into his skin, pressed a few more kisses down his spine.

            “Mick,” Ian said again, but this time Mickey could hear the smile in his boyfriend’s voice. “I have to work in the morning.”

            “Go to work tired,” Mickey said. He rolled his boyfriend onto his back and caught Ian’s lips in a kiss, dry and cracked. Licking Ian’s bottom lip, he slowed long enough to press up against his boyfriend, Ian’s skin cold and naked under the covers. Then he shoved his tongue into his mouth and got an immediate response, a groan rolling through Ian’s body and his hips bucking up. Mickey slipped his kisses down Ian’s neck.

            Ian said, “Quick. Then we’re going back to bed.”

            “Of course.” Then he shut Ian up with a hard kiss.

 

Ian woke disoriented, head spinning. There was a sound. Something had woken him. Then it came again, a sharp dry heave, and Ian almost rolled over with his pillow over his ears before he remembered he wasn’t home and it was unlikely Frank had broken into the Milkoviches’ house.

            He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Mickey bent over the toilet, forehead rested on his arms. Even when his heaving stopped, he didn’t move back, just sat with his head hanging over the opening, waiting for the next round.

            “You okay?” Ian asked. He slid onto the floor beside Mickey and rubbed his hand down his back. Mickey shook his head in silence. “You need anything?”

            Mickey heaved again and Ian winced at the sound of the splatter on porcelain. Light sniffing and the slight shifting of Mickey’s legs spoke of his discomfort, of how long he’d been here before Ian came.

            “I’m gonna get you some water.” He stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, rattled around in the cupboards. When he headed back to the bathroom, Mandy was sitting up on the counter, beside the sink. “Hey,” Ian said.

            Her expression, whatever it was before, immediately went blank. She hid something behind her back and forced a tired smile. “Hey,” she said. “He didn’t want to wake you.”

            Ian glanced between the two of them. The top of Mickey’s head told him nothing, but he was the better liar of the two anyways. Mandy looked at him with an expression of pure innocence, which could only mean one thing: something was up. But she held his gaze steady, drummed her fingers on the counter behind her.

            “You can go back to bed,” Ian said.

            Mandy shrugged. “I don’t work until noon. You should sleep though. I got him.”

            “Mandy,” Ian said. “What’s going on?”

            Her innocent expression fell, but she stayed steadfastly silent. After a moment of their staring contest, Mickey groaned and turned his head to the side. His forehead soaked with sweat, black hair slicked back, he looked slightly better than someone dying of the flu. Ian’s heart sped up slightly, nearly burst. He might have given up on Mandy at the sight, dove back to Mickey’s side, if Mickey didn’t say, “Tell him.”

            Mandy stared at her brother for a second and then offered Ian the object she had hidden behind her back.

            Ian stared at it. “A pregnancy test?”

 

Mickey shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Ian had his head rested on his shoulder, the end of the movie playing some cheesy love song. Mickey’s throat was dry, desert dry, and it hurt to swallow. Moving required throwing Ian off and also carrying his new weight around. Only three and a half months, but the bump showed considerably and Ian had him sitting down and getting up like an old man in an infomercial.

            Mickey flicked Ian’s ear once, twice, three times before the other man stirred. He rolled on Mickey’s shoulder, nearly fell off the couch, and then blearily blinked open his eyes. “What?” Ian asked.

            “Water,” Mickey said.

            Ian grumbled and laid his head back on the couch. “Get it yourself.”

            “I’m too fat.”

            Ian snorted. “You’re barely showing.”

            “Tell that to the girl at the grocery store.”

            A smirk quirked up on Ian’s lips and he looked at Mickey out of one eye, pitying. “Did she hurt your feelings?”

            “Shut the fuck up and get me a drink.”

            “You ever gonna let me sleep?” Ian asked.

            “Nope.”

            With a muttered curse, Ian pushed off the couch and went back to the kitchen. After a second, Mickey heard water running over the annoying credit music and a moment later the glass was in his hand. Ian pressed a kiss to his forehead, then flopped down onto the couch beside him. He laid his head down on Mickey’s bump and whispered, “Your dad is a drama queen.”

            Mickey pushed him off the couch.

 

Ian had been asleep about twenty minutes when Mickey shook him awake. He knew because he specifically remembered coming back from his shift, curling into bed in front of an alarm clock that read 2:34, and now that same clock read 2:54. He cursed incoherently into his pillow before turning around to look at Mickey.

            Mickey’s eyes were wide. He grabbed Ian’s hand without a word and pressed it to his stomach. Ian stared at him, felt nothing but smooth skin under his hand. “Wait,” Mickey said. “She was just kicking.”

            “Mick—” Ian started. He shifted his hand away.

            “Wait,” Mickey said. His fingers grasped Ian’s and he pressed his hand hard to his stomach.

            Even if he was fucking annoying and over dramatic, Ian could at least appreciate the way his boyfriend’s eyes lit up every time the baby did something new. And if the baby was truly kicking, if the baby would kick again soon, then he was glad to be woken to share the moment. Mickey practically beamed, all of him alight and awake, his eyes fixed on his belly like he was begging the kid to do it again.

            Five minutes passed in that silence. Ian felt himself drifting again, but Mickey elbowed him in the stomach, kept his eyes open. Ian tried to start a conversation, but Mickey shushed him, like the sound of their voices might throw the baby off. Five more minutes and nothing happened. Ten more.

            “Mick,” Ian said.

            “Wait.”

            “I need to go to sleep,” Ian said. “I have class tomorrow.”

            “Wait,” Mickey insisted. He pressed Ian’s hand tighter to his stomach as if the pressure would force the baby to kick. Maybe he was trying to get its survival instincts to kick in or thought that they might be able to feel its still foot through his skin.

            Ian waited ten more minutes in silence, then he closed his eyes. When Mickey nudged him this time, he ignored it, but made no move to take his hand away. Mickey grumbled some curse at him, lost to his sleepiness, and soon Ian was asleep again.

 

“Ian,” Mickey snapped. He felt bad for waking his boyfriend this time. Really, Ian was only home for an hour between class and work and all he asked for was a nap, but Mickey had to get him up. Right now. He shook his arm. “Ian, please.”

            Green eyes blinked up at him, wide with sleep. He looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes, glistening tears sparking in his eyelashes. “What?” he asked and his voice, his voice was broken around the word, tired and drained.

            Mickey swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

            “What?”

            “I think I’m in labour.”

            Ian swore but was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed their go bag and then grabbed Mickey’s hand, pulled him out to the crappy car that sat in their driveway, fifty percent functional. Mickey gasped as another contraction rolled through him, slid into the passenger seat, and barely got his seatbelt on before Ian burst out onto the road.

            “Hey,” Mickey said. He rested his hand on the top of the wheel for a second, let Ian steady his hands. “Take a breath.”

            “Sorry,” Ian said. “Just early.”

            And Mickey couldn’t help but think that was a good thing. Ian was looking worse by the day, work and school and life with a pregnant boyfriend wearing on him more than it should. He’d skipped his last two trips to the therapist, saying that he didn’t have the time, and Mickey had let him, because the fight wasn’t worth it.

            “Maybe stop by the doctor’s while I’m in labour?” Mickey said now.

            Ian spared him a glance. “And miss the baby?”

            “Come on,” Mickey said. “You know these things take hours. Days.”

            Ian shrugged. “I’m fine. I’ll go Friday.”

            Mickey nodded, watched the road ahead. He breathed through each contraction, gripped the door handle hard. Ian got them to the hospital in record time and helped Mickey out of the car, coaching his breath the entire walk into the hospital. They told the nurse at the desk what was happening and someone brought Mickey a wheelchair.

            The rush into the hospital gown, onto a bed, and then having a doctor’s cold fingers inside of him went by in a blur. Mickey held Ian’s hand the whole time and felt his boyfriend relax, every muscle weakening, when the doctor said, “Just Braxton Hicks.”

 

“Ian,” Mickey breathed. He barely got the word out. His fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, dug into the cheap fabric. Licking his bottom lip, he watched his boyfriend’s tightly closed eyes, knew the other man was awake, just refusing to get up. “Please.”

            Ian made no move. He didn’t roll away from his voice, didn’t flinch when Mickey grasped his hand. Granted, kneeling on the floor when he was five months pregnant and going into labour (and, yes, he was sure this time. Very, very sure.) hadn’t been the best idea, but he had no idea how else to get Ian’s attention.

            “Come on,” Mickey whispered. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto Ian’s nose. He didn’t even flinch. “You’ve got to get up.” He bit down on his next contraction, rode through the pain and squeezed Ian’s hand too tight. “You’ve made it this fucking far, Ian. You can’t give up on me right now. Today is the one fucking day you can’t decide not to get out of this bed.”

            Nothing.

            Ian lay there, purposefully unresponsive, his hand being crushed, his boyfriend begging him to get up and... nothing.

            “Fuck,” Mickey muttered.

            He pushed off his knees, used the mattress to get up. Stumbling around the room, he grabbed the go bag and the phone, dialed the number for a cab. He coached himself through his own breaths on the ride down and got to the nurse’s desk with few problems. Soon he was in a hospital bed, a cheery doctor smiling at him.

            “So, should we call the father?” the doctor said after confirming that, yes, this time he was in labour.

            Mickey opened his mouth, about to say he couldn’t get the father out of bed, then swallowed his words. “Yeah, umm,” Mickey said, “call his sister, Fiona.”

            After that he was left alone for a while, the hospital moving around him, the light buzz of the TV his only company. He breathed through each contraction, tried to believe he could get through this alone.

            Twenty minutes later Fiona and the rest of the Gallagher clan burst into the room, all chatter and laughter and mad chaos. Mickey smiled at them, ran a hand through Liam’s curls and winced at Debbie’s quick hug. Fiona grabbed his hand, coached him through his next contraction, then said, “Where’s Ian?”

            The room went silent. How, Mickey had no clue. With so many fucking people, you would think someone could get out a question without the entire room waiting for an answer. Five sets of eyes stared at him.

            “I couldn’t get him out of bed,” Mickey said.

            The silence lengthened. Fiona’s hand went limp in his, her eyes glazed over and past him in a second. Debbie and Carl exchanged glances, stepped back from the bed. Then, at length, Lip said, “Bullshit. I’ll go get him.”

            “Lip—” Fiona said.

            “His baby’s about to be born,” Lip said. “He’ll be here.”

            He stormed out of the room and the next hour passed in the presence of the Gallaghers. The nurse visited a few times, Fiona coached Mickey, and the TV got changed to some kids show about step-siblings.

            Then Lip stepped back into the room, Ian at his heels. The Gallaghers cleared out quickly, all of them stopping to give Ian a kiss or a hug or a pat on the back before leaving. And once all of them were gone, Ian stood stock still in the doorway for a long moment, eyes on his feet, completely gone from the world.

            “Hey,” Mickey managed.

            “Hey.”

            “Sorry.”

            Ian looked up. “Why?”

            Mickey shrugged. “If I wasn’t four days late, you could stay in bed.”

            A slight smile pinched Ian’s cheeks, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears. He stumbled forward and sat on the edge of Mickey’s bed. Mickey quickly shifted over, gave Ian enough space to curl up beside him and rest his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

            “I’m sorry,” Ian said. “I’m sorry... I’m like this.”

            “Not your fault,” Mickey said. He ran a hand through Ian’s hair, breathed in the scent of him. Then a contraction rolled through him and he grunted at the pain. His fingers tightened in Ian’s hair and, after a moment, he realized his boyfriend was counting the breaths in a whisper. Mickey followed his instruction, released his grip, and rode through the pain with Ian at his side.


	25. Chips & Cheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ian cheats on Mickey or thinks about it while at work & he's mad about Mickey being so lazy & Mickey finds out & he's thinks he's fat and annoying & he tries to leave but can't get up without help & Ian feels the baby.

Ian came home from work sweaty and tired. Mostly sweaty. He shook as he tried to get the key into the door, wondered what the hell he was going to tell Mickey. How did you tell your pregnant boyfriend that you let a client go down on you in the bathroom? It wasn’t exactly something he could just blurt out.

            Even if he ignored the fact that they’d been fighting, that everything had been worse since Mickey had gotten pregnant, it was bad. Mickey asked him to make it monogamous just a few months before the pregnancy. Hurt and crying, he had begged Ian to stop stepping out on him. And here they were, months away from having a family, and Ian had done it again.

            Ian walked through the front door and immediately stopped feeling guilty. Well, stopped wasn’t quite the right word, but guilt got trounced by complete and utter exasperation at the state of the house. There were bags of groceries piled right in front of the door –no doubt the delivery service had been told the door was open and to just put them in the foyer. The living room floor was scattered with chips (apparently Mickey would get off the couch for food, but nothing else) and tissues. The TV blared sirens indistinguishable from the ones outside. And the smell. Mickey hadn’t showered in days, refused to move from the couch or let Ian clean up the rotting food around him.

            “I thought I asked you to take out the trash,” Ian said.

            Mickey looked up, burped. “Got distracted.”

            “By what?” Ian glanced at the TV. “Dreams of what your life might’ve been?”

            “Fuck off,” Mickey said, no real anger in his voice. He dipped his hand back into the chip bag that was balanced on his giant belly, stuffed a handful in his mouth. Crumbs fell down his face, wedged under his muscle shirt. “Come watch with me.”

            “I can’t. I have to put away the groceries and take out the trash and clean up whatever the hell is rotting around you,” Ian snapped.

             “The fuck is your problem?”

            “My problem?” Ian said. “Look at yourself!”

            Mickey glanced around him, shifted slightly on the couch. He turned off the TV. “Nothing worse than other days,” he said. Carefully, he peeled the bag of potato chips off his stomach and set it down on the coffee table. Massive weight shifted, he turned to Ian. “Something happen at the club?”

            “No,” Ian said, sighing. He met his boyfriend’s blue eyes and his resolve crumbled. “Yes. But not... what you’re thinking.”

            “What am I thinking?”

            “That someone hurt me or fucked with me or whatever,” Ian said. He approached and sat on the couch’s arm, just out of Mickey’s reach. Twisting his fingers, he said, “I kind of... there was this guy and he...” Ian met Mickey’s eyes. “He blew me.”

            “What?”

            “He—”

            “I fucking heard you,” Mickey snapped. He shifted on the couch, but couldn’t manage to move far enough to swing at Ian or get up. Chips scattered all around him. “What the fuck Ian? What am I having your baby for if you can’t even keep it in your fucking pants?”

            “Mick—”

            “I know I haven’t been... horny or whatever lately, but that’s kinda your fucking fault. And if this is about me being fat? Also your fucking fault. So I don’t know where you get off gettin’ blown in the back of your seedy club when I’m sittin’ here making a fucking human being.”

            Ian stared at Mickey, watched as he struggled to get up. Still he didn’t close the gap between them. “I’m sorry,” he said, soft. Mickey scoffed. “I am. It’s just...” He ran a hand down his face. “It’s been really hard lately. Going to work, coming home to this mess, going back to work, coming home again and nothing’s fucking changed.”

            “No, no, I get it,” Mickey snapped. He pushed at the couch cushions but the springs under them gave way and he flopped back into his seat. “I’m too fucking fat and annoying for you. Well, you can just... just get the fuck out of my house.”

            “Mick—”

            “Fine. I’ll leave.” He made another move to stand, his legs shaking. Tears pricked at his blue eyes, cheeks already red. Ian took pity and offered a hand, pulled him to his feet and then stayed close. His hand drifted down to Mickey’s stomach, where the baby kicked hard, and Mickey sniffed. “How could you?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Am I really...” Mickey blinked hard, tried to stop himself from crying. “Am I really that gross?”

            “You could use a shower,” Ian said.

            Mickey backhanded him on the chest.

            “But I love you no matter what,” he said. He kissed Mickey’s forehead and then dipped to kiss his stomach. “And I want this baby and I want us and I’m sorry that I fucked up today. Okay?”

            Mickey nodded. “I’m sorry I’m such a fucking disaster. It’s... harder than I thought.”

             “Come on.” Ian took Mickey’s hand and kissed the back. “Let’s get you in the shower.”

            Mickey smirked. “You gonna join me?”

            “You want me to?” Ian’s expression dipped, his thoughts straying to the mess of the living room and Mickey’s failed libido.

            Slowly, Mickey shook his head. “Sorry.”

            Ian kissed him on the lips, soft, and said, “We’ll get through it.” Then he tapped him on the ass, guided him towards the bathroom. Once the water was running, Ian got down to cleaning the living room, pulling food out of crevices, and praying that it wouldn’t all be back there tomorrow.


	26. College Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey are going to college but Mickey finds out to be pregnant. One day, he practices the speech to tell Ian and it's heard by Lip and Monica. They tell him to not say anything to Ian because it'll ruin his life. So Mickey breaks up with him. When Ian returns home for Christmas he finds out the truth.

Mickey stood in front of the mirror and fixed his hair nervously. His bags were all packed, but he knew he’d have to unpack them soon. He’d already told Mandy about the pregnancy and she had immediately cancelled their plans to head out to university, said Ian would too, once he knew. But Mickey couldn’t find the heart to tell him, had kept it from him for weeks, and this was his last chance. His last chance to tell Ian what had happened before he left for college thinking nothing was wrong, except that Mickey wasn’t going with him.

            With a deep breath, Mickey met his eyes in the mirror. He’d considered hanging a picture of Ian there, something to focus on, but the idea made him sick. Instead he stared at himself, glowing with puke-induced sweat, and said, “Ian, I’m pregnant.”

            He shook his head. “Ian, we’re gonna have a baby.”

            “Ian, you got me fucking pregnant.”

            “Ian... Ian... Ian...” Mickey cursed and smashed his fist into the wall. He leaned his forehead against the mirror, forced himself to breathe. Muttering he said, “Ian, I’m not going to college. I’m not going to college and it’s all your fucking fault because I’ve got this baby inside of me and I can’t stand the thought of givin’ it up. I want us to have a baby, Ian, so... stay with me.”

            “No.”

            The word shocked Mickey from the mirror and he stumbled back to see Monica and Lip standing in the hallway, bundled in coats and scarves, bags in hand. Monica was the one who had spoken, her knuckles white around the bag she held. “No,” she said again, this time with more worry in her voice. She dropped the bags and stepped forward, cradled Mickey’s face in her hands. “You can’t be. You can’t.”

            Mickey froze. She was supposed to be on her meds, but with her it was always a game of roulette. Lip laid a hand on his mom’s arm and pulled her back, calm in the face of her horror. He met Mickey’s gaze levelly and said, “Really? You’re pregnant?”

            “You think I practice fake speeches in the fucking mirror?”

            Lip and Monica exchanged a glance.

            “You can’t tell him,” Monica said, voice quick. She grabbed Mickey again, this time by the arm, and backed him into a wall. Not hard, just with the sweet pressure of a worried mother, her eyes wide and teary. “He’s going to college. He’s gonna get out like Lip did. Don’t you want him to get out.”

            “Hey, hey, mom.” Lip pulled her back again, put himself in between Mickey and Monica.

            Mickey watched them both carefully. He could feel his heart beating in his throat as he saw the struggle in Lip’s eyes, the desperate tears in Monica’s. _He’s gonna get out._ Ian was going to get out, going to have a real life, going to leave the Southside for good. All he needed to do was pack his bags and leave Mickey behind.

            “You know,” Lip said, words slow, “It’s not the best thing for him to be here anymore. With the new meds and Frank and this neighbourhood... he’s better off getting out. Hell, everyone is better off getting out.”

            Mickey opened his mouth to reply, stopped himself. He looked down at his feet and wondered over the words he had spoken in the mirror. _Stay with me._ Did he even deserve that? Did Ian deserve that? He shouldn’t ask Ian to stay, he should encourage him to go.

            “Don’t tell him,” Lip said. “Just... let him go.”

            “I have to fucking tell him.” Mickey’s anger roiled in his stomach. Not asking Ian to stay was one thing, not even telling him was another. “He doesn’t have to stay, but he’s gotta know.”

            “He doesn’t,” Lip said. He reached out a hand to hold his mom back and met Mickey’s eyes steadily. “Think about it, Mick. You think he’s gonna be able to leave knowing that your pregnant? He won’t. He’ll stay. And we both know that’s not what’s best for him.”

            _I’m not what’s best for him._ Mickey almost said, but he fought the words as he knew Ian would. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he took a deep breath and blinked back tears. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay.”

            Lip and Monica stared at him for a long moment, didn’t turn around when the door behind them opened. Ian walked in with a huge smile on his face and an army bag in hand. He dropped it in the hallway and said, “Ready to go?”

            Lip and Monica turned to him as one. Whatever was on their faces made Ian’s smile falter and they quickly excused themselves, left the house. Ian watched them pass, confusion on his face, and he looked back at Mickey. Gesturing over his shoulder, he said, “What’s up with them?”

            “They, uh,” Mickey said. He swallowed whatever lie he would have made up on the spot. Scratching the back of his neck, he spoke without looking Ian in the eyes. “Look, we need to talk.”

            “Can it wait ‘til we’re on the road?” Ian said. He stepped closer, tilted Mickey’s chin up with a finger. His smile had re-brightened his face, dimples dampened down on freckles, and Mickey took the moment to memorize it. He hated to be the person who took that smile away.

            “No,” Mickey said and the corners of the smile drooped.

            “Okay,” Ian said. He dropped his hand, but didn’t step back. The space between them was minimal, so small Mickey could feel Ian breathing, the rise of his chest tapping him every second. “What’s up?”

            “I’m... I’m not going.”

            “What?”

            Mickey looked back at his feet. Their feet. Toes pressed together, they stood so close that Mickey couldn’t hide the shake of his shoulders when he breathed, how hard he bit his lip to stop the tears. “Look, I don’t belong at a place like that,” Mickey said. He forced himself to meet Ian’s eyes. “You do. You’ve got a future, a life, but I’m just an ex-con and always will be. I can’t go to university with you.”

            “I know you’re nervous but—”

            “This isn’t nerves, Ian,” he snapped. He forced himself to take a step back and steady his breath. He looked Ian in the eyes with the coldest look he could muster. “This is about you and me. This is about the fundamental difference between white trash and white criminals. I can’t just walk into a university and pretend everything is pretty and great and all right because we left this shitty ass neighbourhood. Everything about me is still trash.”

            “Mick—”

            “Nothing you say’s gonna change this.”

            Ian stayed quiet for a moment. His green eyes dropped to the floor and he shuffled his feet. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “I’ll be back for holidays and we can talk on the phone and text and—”

            “Ian,” Mickey said, his voice cracking around the word. He didn’t want to have to say it, but Ian was going to make him, and every fibre of his body fought against the words. “I’m not... Ian, I’m breaking up with you.”

            The shock hit Ian like a slap in the face. One moment his expression was sad but hopeful, and the next it was destroyed. The happy redhead who entered the house might have never existed at all. Then, after a moment to steel himself, Ian said, “Fine.” He grabbed his bags and headed out the door after Lip and Monica.

            Mickey was pretty sure that was the last time he’d ever see him.

***

            Christmas at the Gallaghers was an event of tragedy. Monica was gone, again. Frank was drunk somewhere. Lip and Ian had barely made it home in the blizzard. Fiona had cooked a turkey that was three days passed its expiry date and now everyone who sat at the table stared at it blankly, unsure what to do.

            Ian wasn’t focused on the turkey. He tapped his fork against his plate and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to see Mickey again. Of course, he’d have to engineer the run-in, but he’d gotten over his pride to decide to do that a long time ago. Mickey was still the only person he cared about. Sure, he’d had one night stands at college, even dated a few guys, but he kept going back to Mickey late at night when he couldn’t find anything else to think about. Sometimes he woke in the morning and reached over the bed only to find empty air. So the patheticness of staging an accidental meeting was nothing in comparison.

            He forced himself to sit through the disaster that was Christmas dinner and then walked out into the street to “see the lights.” Fiona gave him a weird look, but let him go, and he was grateful for it. His fingers itched. He needed to see Mickey, even if that meant knocking on his door in the middle of whatever the hell Christmas at the Milkoviches looked like. Not exactly the semi-suave run-in he’d prepared, but he was past waiting.

            Christmas at the Milkovich house looked a lot like Christmas at the Gallaghers upon first glance. There was a single string of sadly broken lights on the railing and a clatter of noise inside. Through the window, Ian could see the family around the table, Mandy laughing, everyone else picking at their sandwiches. Mickey’s back was to the window, so all Ian could see were the black hairs sticking up on his head, but it was enough to speed his heartbeat.

            He jumped up onto the porch and knocked on the door, shaking. More scrambles. Mandy opened the door and he smiled even as her mouth dropped open. On instinct, he wrapped her in a hug and felt the hesitation before she hugged back.

            “Hey,” she said, blocking the door with her small body. Her smile was strained. “What are you doing here?”

            “Came to say hi,” Ian said. “I’m in town.”

            “Well, I’ll grab my coat and we can—”

            “No,” Ian said, too fast. He winced at his own words, afraid to hurt Mandy by telling her he’d come to see her brother. He licked his lips. “Umm, can I see Mick?”

            Mandy deflated against the doorframe. Her mouth hung open around unknown words and then she said, “I don’t think he wants to see you.”

            “Ask him?”

            Mandy hesitated a moment and then nodded. She backed up into the house, left the door open only an inch. Ian stepped forward and pushed it open minisculely. Mandy’s voice carried along with Mickey’s protests and Ian stepped further inside, trying to get a glimpse of Mickey’s face if he wouldn’t talk to him.

            He rounded the corner at the spike in their fight and saw Mickey sitting halfway out of his chair. For a moment, Ian didn’t notice the difference, just saw his boyfriend angry and tossing his hands around like weapons as he spoke. Then his eyes dipped to the belly, the belly that was too much weight for Mickey to put on, too round to be a beer gut. Barely there, four months, maybe five. Ian swallowed his heart and approached.

            Both Mandy and Mickey looked up at him. Ian expected Mickey to curse, to say something mean, but all he did was get to his feet. Ian pressed a hand against his swelling belly and his brain short-circuited.

            “Ian...” Mickey began softly.

            “Mine?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ian met his eyes, tried to summon the necessary anger. Mickey had lied to him. Mickey hadn’t told him about their baby, a baby he must have known about before Ian left. But he couldn’t get mad. How could he when his baby rested under his hand and the man he loved carried it? His breath hitched in his throat and he said, “You’re keeping it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Never thought you would,” Ian whispered. He let his hand dropped and looked back into Mickey’s eyes. His vision blurred, tears cool on his eyelashes. Each blink further dissolved his vision.

            “You have to go back to school,” Mickey said, the words too harsh for the moment. “You have to go back and you have to—”

            Ian shut him up with a kiss. He thread his fingers through the hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and pulled him closer, let the belly rest against him as he kissed. Mickey responded slowly, like it was the first time all over again, then relaxed into the pressure of Ian’s tongue against his own.

            “I love you,” Ian said. He met Mickey’s eyes steadily. “And we’ll figure this out. Get an apartment closer to the school and my job can cover some things. You can work and we’ll do this together.”

            Mickey shook his head. “You can’t give up for me.”

            “I’m not giving up,” Ian said. “I’ll still go to school and do my work, but now I’ll waste a hell of a lot less time worrying about you. That’s pretty much better than staying away from you.”

            Mickey cursed under his breath, a smile on his lips, and then leaned in to kiss him.


	27. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey finds out he's pregnant while Ian is with Monica. When Ian comes home, Mickey breaks up with him. They meet again in the hospital when Ian brings Debbie there. By mistake, they enter a room where a doctor is letting Mickey listen to the sounds of his twins' hearts.

“Look,” Mickey said. He bit back a hard sigh and looked down at Ian’s feet. He had to do it. He knew he had to do it. It was one thing dealing with Ian and his bipolar disorder and his cheating when it was just him, but that wasn’t the case anymore. It wasn’t just him. It was him and a baby, and he needed to give this baby a better life than the one he’d been living for the past year. “I can’t do this anymore.”

            “What?” Ian said. His eyes were blurry with tears. “You don’t... I know I ran away, okay? I know it was stupid to let Monica take me out of there, but I came back. I came back for you, Mick.”

            “But you went with Monica because you didn’t want the meds,” Mickey said. “Tell me that’s changed.”

            Ian stayed silent.

            Mickey took a breath and a step back. He flopped back onto the couch, winced when the springs’ protest rumbled through his whole body. He resisted the urge to put his hand to his stomach, something he had been doing constantly over the last three days as a way to convince himself that this was real. He was having a baby. He was having Ian’s baby.

            “I can’t deal with you off your meds, Ian,” Mickey said, his voice soft. He still couldn’t find it in himself to look his boyfriend in the eyes. His _ex-_ boyfriend. “I can’t let this become my life, where I don’t know if you’re gonna wake up at three in the morning or not at all. I can’t live with that kind of inconsistency. I can’t.... I can’t do that to Yev.” Mickey bit his bottom lip hard to stop the tears. “I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t need the meds.”

            “You do. The army let you off because you do. The hospital told you that you do. I’ve told you, Fiona’s told you, your whole family has told you.” Mickey fixed his eyes to Ian’s, begged him silently to get the real point. He didn’t want to leave him, he really didn’t. “The only person who agrees with you is Monica.”

            “I came back because she said to find someone who accepted me! I thought that was you.”

            “I do accept you, Ian! But you’re sick. You’re sick and you need help.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “Ian!”

            Ian walked out of the living room and slammed the door.   

            Mickey forced himself to breathe as the breeze from the closed door shot through the room, Chicago-winter cold. He let his hand fall to his belly, imagined he could feel the heartbeat against his skin. He’d done the right thing. He knew that Ian couldn’t take care of a baby, he’d proved as much with Yev already.

            With a sniff, the damn broke and he sat sobbing on the couch. Mandy came to sit next to him and rubbed small circles down his back.

***

            Ian walked Debbie into the hospital, all of her weight on him. She kept one foot off the ground, hopped along with the other. Fiona had done her best with a tensor bandage but could do little else with a house full of daycare kids. Ian had offered to take Debbie to the hospital mainly to skip his shift at the diner.

            They limped up to the front desk and were directed down the hall to the right. They stumbled through the nearest door and heard a doctor say, “And if you listen, you’ll hear your twins’ heartbeats. Do you have any names picked out yet?”

            “I was thinking Alexander and Emily,” a man said.

            “Lovely names,” the doctor replied.

            “Oh, sorry,” Ian said. He pulled Debbie back as he looked up and froze. Mickey lay on the bed with a hospital gown up over a swollen belly that was smeared with ultrasound jelly. Mandy stood beside him and grasped his hand tight. Both of them stared at Ian in a long, awkward silence.

            “Congrats,” Ian said, voice shaking. He pushed out the door faster and took Debbie with him down the hall.

            “Ian—”          

            “I know,” Ian said, even though he had no idea what she was going to say. He forced himself to keep a strong hold on her as they approached yet another desk and explained their problem to the nurse.

            Ian was just about to hand Debbie over to the nurse when she said, “Ian!”

            “What?”

            “Mickey—”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            She let out an exasperated sigh. “Ian. You know a baby’s sex at five months. You’ve been broken up with Mickey for four."

            Ian stared at her as she was pulled away, brain moving too fast for his thoughts to catch up with it. Then it hit him. Mickey was pregnant with his baby. His. He nearly hyperventilated on his way back to the room. Pushing through the door, he walked in on Mickey changing, Mandy in the corner of the room on her phone, the doctor nowhere in sight.

            “You’re pregnant,” Ian said.

            Mickey gave him a look as he slid his pants over his boxers. “No shit, Sherlock.”

            “With my baby.”

            Mickey glanced towards his sister, who nodded and left the room. Then he sat back up on the bed as he pulled his shirt back on. “What do you want me to say?” Mickey said.

            “When did you know?”

            “Found out when you were with Monica,” Mickey said. He kept his eyes on the ground.

            Ian stayed silent and leaned against the wall. He tried to work through Mickey’s logic, figure out why he hadn’t known this for four months, why he had found out by accident. But despite his rapidly turning thoughts, so fast he could barely breathe around them, he didn’t know what Mickey had been thinking, so he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “What do you want? From the baby?”

            “To be a part of its life.”

            “And how’d that end up with Yevgeny?” Mickey said. Teary blue, he met Ian’s eyes. “You had him living off makeshift diapers and whatever food you could scrounge up with the five dollars in your pocket. You think I wanted you to be able to do that to another baby? To our baby?”

            “Mick—”

            “What? Are you gonna say it wouldn’t have happened? You refused to take your meds! Are you even on them now?”

            Ian looked down at the ground, didn’t answer.

            “I can’t let you into this baby’s life,” Mickey said, soft. He slipped off of the bed and walked up to Ian, laid a hand on his cheek. Ian looked back at him, met Mickey’s sad eyes. Mickey said, “I love you. I’ll always love you. But you can’t... you can’t be part of this.”

            Ian closed the space between them with a soft kiss, tried to put all the words he couldn’t get out into that one motion. Mickey didn’t react, didn’t back away, and after a moment, Ian pulled back. His head hit the wall, rattled him. Mickey stared at him, nodded, and then left the room.

***

            Ian approached the door to the Milkovich house. He wiped his palms on his pants and then knocked twice, quietly. It’d been only three weeks since he’d seen Mickey, but he hoped the meds in his pockets and his constant yawning would be enough to convince him he was okay.

            For some reason, there was a huge difference to him that Mickey had broken up with him for the baby instead of for himself. He would’ve respected Mickey’s decision to leave him if it was just him, but if Mickey wanted him, if this baby needed him, then he’d do anything to get back in the loop.

            Mandy opened the door and immediately slumped against the frame. “Ian—”

            Ian pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket. “I’m good. I mean, there’s two other drugs I’m on, but I thought... might be overkill to bring them all? Make him more worried?”

            Mandy looked him up and down, licked her lips. “He’s still got a baby to take care of. He can’t take care of you too.”

            “I’ll take care of myself,” Ian said. He shoved the pills back into his pocket. “Come on, Mandy, let me see him.”

            Mandy stepped away from the door and let Ian in. She directed him through a door into an empty bedroom where Mickey and Iggy sat on the floor, pieces of a crib around them. Ian stood in the doorway for a moment, watched Mickey’s slow movements around his swollen belly.

            “Hey,” Ian said.

            Both men looked back at him. Iggy quickly made himself scarce.

            “What do you want?” Mickey said.

            “I’m on my meds now,” Ian said. He shook the pill bottle to punctuate his point and then stepped into the room. Collapsing to the floor beside Mickey, he added, “And I can probably put a crib together. I helped put together Liam’s when he was born and Carl’s and Debbie’s.” He grabbed for a piece of the crib and Mickey stopped him, hand over Ian’s.

            “You can’t just... come back,” Mickey said.

            “Let me prove to you I’m better or getting there,” Ian said. “There’s three months until the baby comes. Let me hang around until then and if you don’t want me around once the baby comes, I’m gone. But until then, let me try, okay, Mick? Please let me try.”

            Slowly, Mickey nodded and then took his hand away. “Figure out how to put this fucking thing together and you’re on your way to staying.”

            Ian laughed and swiped the instruction booklet.

***

            Three months later, Ian was allowed to stay.


	28. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey's pregnant with his second kid and maybe he isn't sure how Ian is gonna feel about it because he thinks Ian doesn't want another kid.

Mickey woke up late at night to a familiar feeling. And to Val’s crying. Ian was fast asleep beside him. Mickey snuck out of bed and ignored the rolling of his stomach to walk over to his daughter’s room.

            Halfway there, he ditched to the bathroom and threw up all over the toilet. He used one hand to steady himself against the counter, refused to move for a second or two. The vomit could wait. He’d clean it after he got Val back to sleep.

            He wiped his face down with water and headed to his daughter. She was standing, shaking the bars of her crib, wisps of hair stuck to her lips. Mickey approached and wiped the hair from her face, whispered gibberish to calm her down and picked her up. He rocked her back and forth, careful not to let her wild legs hit his belly.

            “Dadda,” she said, right into his ear.

            He rubbed her back. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

            “Nightmare.”

            “Nightmare, huh?” Mickey almost laughed. It was the biggest word he’d heard her say and he knew just where she’d picked it up – he and Ian had had a conversation about his sleeping issues outside her door a few days ago. But then that conversation reminded him of the nausea, how easily he woke up, and the pickles he ate for lunch.

            “Dadda?”

            “Yeah, sweetie,” Mickey said. He bounced her up and down, carefully checked to make sure she hadn’t had an accident. She seemed clean. “Are you hungry?”

            “No.”

            “Thirsty?”

            She seemed to think about it for a moment. “Yes.”

            “Okay, to the kitchen we go.” He carried her out to the kitchen, even though she was perfectly capable of waddling there herself. Mickey pulled out a sippy cup and filled it with water. He deposited it in her small hands and walked back to her bedroom while she drank. “You feeling better?”

            “Better,” she replied. She let him set her back down in the crib and held out the sippy cup.

            Mickey fumbled the catch and then stared at the cup on the ground for a moment. He knew he wasn’t so far along that he couldn’t bend over, but he didn’t want to risk it. He was already experiencing morning sickness – and apparently in the middle of the night – so he was further along then he’d thought he was. He still hadn’t told Ian. He hadn’t even taken a pregnancy test. He just knew how it’d been with Val, so he knew the symptoms this time when they’d started to form. But Ian had been perfectly clear – he didn’t want any more kids until they were stable. And they were far from stable.

            “Dadda?”

            “Yeah, sweets?”

            “Sleep now?”

            He forced a smile. “Yeah. Sleep now.”

            “Problem?”

            He almost laughed, but caught himself. She got that compassion from Ian, clear as day. “Can I tell you a secret?” She nodded her little head and Mickey smiled. “I’m going to have another baby.”

            Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. She sat back down with a frown on her face, then looked up at Mickey. “You still Dadda?”

            “Of course. I’m always Dadda.”

            She nodded. “Then okay.”

            “But it’s a secret,” Mickey said. He held a finger up to his lip for emphasis. “A secret, got it?”

            “Got it.”

            And even though he knew she was just repeating the words, he trusted her to keep the secret. She didn’t really know what he meant, so how could she let it slip?

            He went back to the bathroom and cleaned up the puke on the toilet. He vomited again and this time aimed it better so there was no clean up required.

            Heading back to bed, he stopped in the doorway for a moment to stare at Ian. He was so peaceful asleep. Asleep for once. The meds had finally settled out again and let him sleep well and at normal times.

            Mickey didn’t know how this had happened. They’d been careful, been using condoms, not wanting to make another mistake and end up with a second child. But here it was, the second child inside of him. And he couldn’t bring himself to go get an abortion, not even if he’d told Ian about it first. Part of him really wanted the child, he just knew that Ian thought they couldn’t handle it.

            With a sigh, Mickey slipped back into bed. Ian shifted behind him and threw an arm over him, his hand resting unconsciously on Mickey’s belly. Mickey stiffened for a moment before he let himself relax. Six weeks. He wouldn’t show for at least another six. And at that point he could bullshit whatever he needed. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t thought about it. He hadn’t _known._ And Ian would be forced to keep the baby when its presence was so obvious, when it’s loss would be so apparent to Val. Mickey just knew it.

 

Mickey and Ian were sitting on the couch watching a movie. Val was at their feet playing with alphabet blocks. She’d already managed to spell out several words by accident and then break them up before showing her dads incorrectly spelled words. Mickey found it charming in his half-asleep state, the movie on the screen not enough to entertain him.

            All he really knew at the moment was that he really wanted pickles and ice cream. Together. Mushed up in a bowl. And while most of him knew that was disgusting, a bigger part of him was very hungry and needed the food. Mickey knew if he ate now it would just be ammunition for later that night but he barely cared.

            His stomach growled and Ian looked over. Ian said, “You hungry?”

            “Yeah.”

            “What do you want?”

            “Ice cream.”

            Ian kicked Mickey’s legs off the coffee table. “Go get it then. And bring me some.”

            Mickey reminded himself that Ian didn’t know he was pregnant and tried not to resent him too much. Carefully, he lifted himself off of the couch and headed into the kitchen. Since he was alone, he went ahead and mushed up pickles into his ice cream, careful to make sure the worst of the colour was hidden in the darkness. Then he headed back to the couch and handed one bowl to Ian.

            Ian took one bite and screwed up his face. He threw his bowl on the coffee table. “That’s gone bad.”

            Mickey took a bite of his and cursed himself for switching up the bowls. “Let me try,” he said and took a bite of Ian’s. It was pure heaven, sticky and sweet with the bite of garlic. But he forced himself to screw up his face under Ian’s scrutiny and said, “Yeah, that’s gone bad.”

            “Looked like you liked it for a second.”

            Mickey shrugged. “I’ve eaten bad ice cream before.” Not a lie.

            They put Val to bed in another half an hour and then stumbled back to bed. Mickey batted off Ian’s advances and was asleep in under three minutes. He woke up an hour later, went back to sleep, and was up three hours later to go vomit. When he came back, Ian was propped up on his elbow in bed, looking concerned.

            “You all right?” Ian said. “That’s the second time you’ve been up tonight. And you said you were tired.”

            “I was. I am,” Mickey said. He crawled back into bed and let out a deep sigh once he settled on his back. “It’s just a rough night, that’s all.”

            “You sure nothing’s wrong?”

            “Nothing’s wrong,” Mickey said.

            Ian leaned over to kiss him and wrinkled up his nose at the bitterness on Mickey’s lips. “Did you throw up? Are you sick?”

            “No, it’s fine.”

            “Mick. We don’t lie to each other.”

            “Don’t we?”

            Ian frowned and sat up further in bed. He turned on a light, which made Mickey groan, and demanded, “Tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t the first night you’ve been up and down, and you can blame it on Val all you want, but she’s a pretty sound sleeper.”

            Mickey licked his lips and forced himself to sit up. “You really want to know?”

            “I really want to know.”

            Mickey opened his mouth to tell him, but then Val started to cry. With a sigh, he got out of bed and Ian followed after him, probably to make sure he wasn’t avoiding the conversation. The two of them reached Val’s room together and Ian took her into his arms, whispering soothing words.

            “Nightmare,” Val said. “Worried.”

            “Worried about what, sweetie?” Ian said.

            “Baby.”

            “What baby?”

            “Dadda’s baby,” Val said.

            Ian opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped abruptly. He looked over at Mickey with wide eyes and said, “Your baby?”

            “Our baby,” Mickey said.

            “We’re... you’re pregnant?”

            Mickey hesitated, then nodded, careful to hold eye contact with Ian.

            “Well,” Ian said. He turned back to Val and smiled. “The baby’s fine. Right, Mick? Baby’s fine?”

            He nodded, unsure of whether or not he could smile.

            “See? Nothing to worry about, Val,” Ian said. He kissed her on the forehead.

            She lifted a finger to her lips and said, “Secret.”

            “Secret?”

            “Baby secret.”

            Ian laughed. “Well, I think the cat’s out of the bag, sweetie.”

            “Cat?”

            He kissed her on the forehead again and settled her back down in the crib. The two of them spent a few more minutes with her before they headed back into the bedroom.

            Once they were both back in bed, Ian turned to Mickey. “Is this what’s been going on the last couple of days? You’re pregnant?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

            Mickey bit his bottom lip. “You said you didn’t want any more kids until we were settled. I didn’t think this counted as settled.”

            “Well, it doesn’t,” Ian said, but there was a smile on his face. “How could you think I’d be anything but happy about a baby, though? I love Val more than my own life.”

            “I know.”

            Ian leaned in and kissed him. “I’m happy, okay? You gone to the hospital yet?”

            Mickey shook his head.

            “Tomorrow. Right now, try to get some sleep. And wake me up if you get sick again.”

            Mickey nodded and kissed Ian again. He wanted to go for what Ian had offered him earlier, but fatigue suddenly hit him like a truck and he pulled back. The two cuddled into bed and Ian wrapped an arm around him, hand laid reverently against Mickey’s belly.


	29. The Prince And The Pauper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is a bad guy and a playboy. During a party, Ian loses a bet and his friends decides that he must have sex with Mickey who is a good guy, a nerd (he wears glasses) and everyone in the school calls him "Goody-goody". They have sex and it's the first time for Mickey. He finds out he's pregnant the same day on which he finds out about the bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Ian took a sip from his third solo cup beer of the night. He was far from buzzed – alcoholic genes did a lot for one’s tolerance levels – but his friends were quickly going from tipsy to straight out drunk. They’d started a game of fuck, marry, kill, not minding that all the girls they were shouting about were easily within earshot – hell, half the city was within earshot.

            “Ian,” Trevor said. “Fuck, marry, kill.”

            Ian got ready for whatever disgusting guys Trevor was about to throw his way. Trevor knew almost nothing about Ian’s tastes – other than that they leaned towards his own sex, a fact he only knew because of the one night Ian let himself get _really_ drunk – and often accidentally picked really sexy guys when trying to pick bad ones.

            “All right,” Trevor said. “Me, Jake” – he had named another guy in their group who was wildly homophobic, but mostly nice to Ian – “and...” Trevor looked around the party for the perfect target. When he spotted him, he smiled. Ian tried to follow his gaze but Trevor turned back too quickly. “Milkovich.”

            Mickey.

            Ian took a sip of his drink so that he wouldn’t give himself away. Mickey was clearly the marry option of the bunch, but he wasn’t about to tell the guys that. Mickey was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, tied off with a calculus problem. He was a geek, there was no doubt about it, too smart for his own good and always in the teachers’ good books. Everyone called him a goody-goody, even his sister, who was deep into drugs and boys who were bad for her. Mickey had grown up in Ian’s own neighbourhood, deep Southside, yet had somehow escaped his given stereotype. Maybe it was the brains. Maybe he was too smart to get sucked into something different. But if he was really smart, he’d fake the dumb thug routine just to stop his dad from giving him bruises.

            “Easy,” Ian said. “I’m going to marry you, fuck Jake” – he winked at Jake here, just to make him shudder – “and kill fucking Milkovich.”

            “And here I was hoping you’d kill me,” Trevor said.

            Ian flipped him off and then pulled him in for a quick kiss. Kisses between him and Trevor meant nothing. Fucks between him and Trevor meant nothing. It was all part of Ian’s image, an image he had carefully cultivated to keep his sexuality from becoming a point of attack for the people around him. He may be gay, but he was tough and sexually active and the king of all the guys at their school. That image kept him alive.

            “Let’s make a bet,” Trevor said. He cleared his throat and announced, in the way a sports announcer might say the winner of the Stanley Cup, “I bet that I can do a keg stand for thirty seconds longer than Ian Gallagher.”

            “Bullshit,” Ian said.

            “So it’s a bet?”

            “Of course.”

            Trevor held out his hand, then pulled it back just as Ian reached for it. “Let’s make it interesting.”

            Ian had been waiting for those words. “You lose, you go home with me tonight,” he said.

            Trevor smirked. He had no real intention of winning and that’s what made it fun for Ian. Trevor needed to keep up his image, keep himself as straight as possible even while he was Ian’s favourite fuck. He said, “And if you lose, you go home with... Milkovich.”

            Ian smirked back. He offered his hand again and they shook on it. Then they headed over to the keg in the middle of the floor.

            Ian went first. He settled his hands against the sides of the barrel, placed the mouth piece against his lips, and nodded to his friends who lifted him up over the keg. Then he started to drink, slow and steady, not letting the rush get to his brain. He could hear the people yelling around him, but not the numbers they were shouting. The beer must have been getting to him faster than he thought. He went down at twenty-six seconds.

            “World record is a minute,” he said when he got down. He clapped Trevor on the back. “Your ass is mine.”

            Trevor smiled like the whole world was at his feet. “Think I’m going to waste the chance to make you Milkovich’s first time? Come on, man. Throw the guy a bone.”

            “I’d rather kill ‘im,” Ian reminded Trevor.

            Trevor shrugged. “We’ll see.”

            He stepped away and Ian grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him back. In a low whisper, he asked, “You do plan on throwing this, right?” His stomach curled at the thought that Trevor could be serious about the whole thing. Serious about being Mickey’s first time off a bet. Serious that Ian go and blow a guy he barely knew, barely spoke to past his daily shoving of him into a locker. “I’m not fucking the nerd.”

            “We’ll see,” Trevor repeated. He pulled out of Ian’s grasp and went for the keg.

            Ian didn’t count along with the rest of the crowd. He just watched as Trevor’s face went red and his arms went wobbly and yet he still stayed upside down over the keg. He watched as Trevor passed thirty seconds, then forty, and closed in on fifty. Ian found Mickey in the crowd, standing off to the side, nursing a drink in his hands. He wondered how hard it would be to get the goody-goody out of his pants.

            “Fifty-six,” the crowd roared.

            Trevor came down from the keg and wiped off his mouth with a broad smile. He winked at Ian as the crowd started to disperse and then walked right up to him. He gestured towards Mickey and said, “Get to it, playboy.”

            “Fuck you,” Ian said. He kissed him quick and messy, tasted the alcohol on his tongue, and the headed off into the crowd.

 

Mickey was scared to see Ian Gallagher walking towards him. The boy never expressly targeted him – that was beyond him, targets – but he was never very friendly towards him either. So if Mickey tried to blend into the wall and press his glasses right up against his eyes and nurse his beer even more slowly, it was most definitely to hide from Ian.

            However, it didn’t work. Ian walked up and tapped him on the shoulder, simply said, “Follow me.”

            And Mickey, not knowing what consequences there might be did he not follow, trailed after him to one of the house’s many bedrooms. The door was closed behind him, pulled tight with Ian’s arms on either side of him, and then Ian’s lips were on him, hard and rough and plump and so skilled that Mickey could feel himself tenting in his pants with only a few seconds passed.

            “Whoa,” he said after a moment. He pushed Ian back slightly, perhaps with too much strength, but he was used to pushing off his brothers when they tried to take swings at him, not guys who wanted to kiss him. “What the hell?”

            “I’m going to fuck you,” Ian whispered, his voice beer and sandpaper. Their noses rubbed together as he stepped closer, hot, alcoholic breath all over Mickey’s face. “Hard. Rough. Not like anything you’ve ever done before, you hear me? And you’re gonna beg for more and I’m not going to give it to you. Simple?”

            Mickey nodded. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat. This was his wet dreams come to life. He couldn’t deny that he’d thought of it before, thought of being pinned against a wall by Ian Gallagher, masturbated to the thought of his lips on his neck. And those lips were now on his neck, now sucking and biting and leaving marks that would be too hard to hide. At least he could tell his dad honestly that he got lucky that night.

            “Okay,” Mickey said, like Ian Gallagher needed permission to do anything.

            Ian made quick work of their clothes, but stopped at the button of Mickey’s jeans to stroke his erection through the fabric. Mickey could feel the smile on Ian’s lips as he traced the outline with surprising gentleness. “I like that you’re easy,” Ian whispered. The words felt funny said against Mickey’s lips. “I like that you’re hot for me. How long have you been hot for me?”

            “A while,” Mickey managed. He gasped as Ian’s hand made it into his boxers and gave his dick one hard stroke. “Years.”

            “Years? To be honest, I wasn’t even sure you were gay.”

            “Not... not something I advertise.” Mickey bit his tongue to stop a groan from coming out. Under Ian’s ministrations, under skilled and long fingers, Mickey was sure he wouldn’t last long. He’d come long before the main event and he didn’t know what Ian would do with him then. So he had to focus all of his energy on holding himself together, letting the conversation fall by the wayside.

            “You open yourself up for me? Stretch your hole so you’ll be ready for me?” Ian muttered between kisses.

            Mickey could feel Ian’s erection against his thigh now, rutting against the denim. But even though Ian seemed to be doing five things at once – jacking him off, thrusting, kissing, torturing him, and talking – he was an expert at all of them. He knew how to get himself hot, even if his partner wasn’t talking at all.

            “Turn around,” Ian said.

            Mickey opened his mouth to protest, but Ian cut him off.

            “Actually, fuck that.” Ian pulled him back from the wall and took off Mickey’s pants. “On the bed. On your back. Pillow under your hips.” Then he snapped his fingers like he might at a servant.

            Mickey scrambled to comply anyways. He complied so well that he missed when Ian took off his own pants. When he looked up from his position, Ian was naked, his dick long and hard and curved in the dim light.

            Ian took hold of Mickey’s thighs and slid in between them. Somewhere he had gotten lube. Whether he carried it with him or had hid it in the room or the host had left lube lying around, Mickey didn’t know. Maybe he would never know. As Ian lubed up his fingers, some part of Mickey finally started thinking that this was a terrible idea. Sex with Ian Gallagher, biggest playboy in the Southside, without a condom, on someone’s dirty bed, at a drunken party – yeah, terrible idea.

            Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to tell Ian to stop. When was he ever going to have the opportunity to be under Ian Gallagher again? And if it turned into just another fantasy, at least now he’d know what it really felt like, what he was really missing when it was his fingers inside himself instead of Ian.

            Ian circled a finger around Mickey’s hole, cold and torturous. Then he stuck it in and started to massage the digit in and out of Mickey. Mickey couldn’t stop the noises that made their way out of his mouth. And when Ian added a second finger, he was gone. He could feel the stretch, the curl of fingers against his prostate, the sweet friction. Throughout all of this, Ian was mumbling dirty things, things that Mickey missed, things that made his toes curl when he caught half a sentence here or there.

            Then Ian pulled out. He lubed himself up, focusing on himself as he stroked his dick. Mickey watched the motion, fascinated. When Ian asked whether or not he was sure about this, all he could do was nod.

            Ian slipped into him slowly. The stretch was painful and Mickey bit his lip until it bled to get through it. Ian paused when he was all the way in, whispered, “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” Mickey managed. He opened his eyes to look at Ian, who was staring at him with a million emotions Mickey couldn’t untangle. He faked a smile just in case worry was one of them. “I’m good.”

            Ian started to move, nice and slow, little thrusts that got bigger in increments. The discomfort turned to pleasure and soon Mickey couldn’t stop moaning. Ian put a hand to his mouth, then slipped fingers between his lips for Mickey to suck on. Mickey sucked and bit and moaned around the digits as Ian’s thrusts sped up.

            Ian’s other hand reached in between them to stroke off Mickey when his thrusts started to get erratic. He spread precome along the shaft and worked his fingers up and down in rhythm with his thrusts. His skill was obvious. Even near to his own climax, he kept his cool and allowed Mickey to suck at his fingers, buck into his hand, and push down on his cock. All of it had little effect on Ian as he pounded into Mickey. He knew what he liked and what he wanted. Mickey was little part of that.

            Which is maybe why after they both come, Mickey was left feeling oddly empty, like he wasn’t a part of what had just happened to his body. He could barely breathe and Ian wiped him off, wiped his come when it spilled out between Mickey’s legs. Ian even licked some of it up and smiled at Mickey as if that was all it took to make the act intimate.

            Mickey forced himself to smile back and then immediately lost the expression when Ian turned his back to gather their clothes. Still he insisted he was all right as Ian wandered around the room and let Ian go out before him. After all, no one would be surprised to find Ian exiting a bedroom at a party. Even if it was Mickey that he left behind in the room.

 

Ian spent the next week ignoring Mickey. Well, not really ignoring. Just not treating him any differently. He justified it by saying that that was what was expected of him, that was how he was supposed to act about a bet fuck. Bet fucks were supposed to mean less than nothing to him.

            But he was worried about Mickey. Something had seemed off after the act itself and something still felt off now. Sure, the guy still answered every single question in class and blew the teachers away with his essays, but he seemed quieter in the halls, sadder. Ian realized that he no longer met Mickey’s eyes when he passed him and he always had before.

            Ignoring Mickey might have been the wrong route, but Ian didn’t know what else to do. Mickey was an outcast at the school already for being smart and it was just going to be worse now that the school knew he was gay. Ian couldn’t get involved. He’d gotten away from the rumours and the speculation and the hatred of himself by becoming a different person, a different person from what Mickey was. He couldn’t get involved.

            Yet it killed him to be away from Mickey and know that he was suffering. So, in the middle of class, he passed Mickey a note that simply said, _You okay?_

            _Yes_ was the answer that came back.

            _You sure?_

_Yes._

_You seem off._

_I’m fine._

Ian crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand and hoped that no one had seen them. The whole effort was fruitless. Mickey would tell him nothing and the school would assume it had just been a fuck and Ian would have to fade out of Mickey’s life altogether. That was the way the world worked. And it fucking sucked, but it was the world.

 

Mickey had his sister buy the pregnancy test. People wouldn’t blink an eye at her going into a drug store and buying a test. She was a human Petri dish.

            Mandy got home and threw the test on his bed. “You gonna take it now?” she asked.

            “Don’t have to pee.”

            She stepped into the room and sat down on the bed, heavily. “I can’t believe you would be this stupid,” she said. “Isn’t your whole thing that you’re smart? You’re too smart for this life and our world and why fucking hide that? How does someone so smart do something so stupid?”

            “I’m sorry,” Mickey said.

            “Don’t apologize,” Mandy said. She cuffed him on the back of the head. “I’m just saying. Ian fucking Gallagher. You could’ve just had sex with a dish of AIDs.”

            “AIDs isn’t really the problem at the moment,” Mickey reminded her. Because the problem at the moment was that he had been getting really bad cramps, nausea, and had missed his period. The problem was that he had had sex without a condom two weeks ago and now he was showing all the early signs of pregnancy.

            Mandy wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and squeezed him tight. “I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye on these things, in fact, we’re pretty much opposites, but you know I love you and I’m here for you, right?”

            “Right,” Mickey said.

            “Go pee.”

 

Mickey really didn’t want to tell Ian. The last thing he wanted to do was tell Ian. He just wanted to get rid of the thing and be done with it, but Mandy had convinced him that he needed to tell him before he did anything rash. Mickey didn’t think an abortion was rash. He thought an abortion was the right thing to do.

            But he took a deep breath and started to walk towards Ian in the school hallways. He could feel people staring at him. Of course they all knew about him and Ian – none of Ian’s exploits were ever private – so Mickey kept his head down. He walked quickly up to the group of boys and said, “Can I talk to you, Ian?”

            “Ah, look,” Trevor said. His voice was filled with sarcasm and spite and just a hint of jealousy. Trevor was always jealous. “Look at the little bet fuck coming to beg you to have him again, Ian. Go ahead and say it, bet fuck.”

            Mickey looked up at Trevor, thrown for a moment. Bet fuck? He’d heard the phrase before around Ian, the guys that Trevor asked Ian to fuck for one reason or another. Usually to embarrass them. It was the worst form of fuck to be to Ian because it meant that Ian hadn’t wanted it at all. Ian had been in it for the bet.

            Mickey almost threw up on the spot. “Umm,” he said. He looked at Ian, met his green eyes for the first time since they’d had sex. He saw nothing there. None of the emotion from the bedroom, just blankness and curiosity. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”

            He turned on his heel and started down the hall as fast as he could go without running. He could hear Trevor laughing behind him. Tears pricked at his eyes, one escaped onto his cheek, and he brushed it away violently. Bet fuck.

            He turned the corner into the nearest boy’s bathroom and splashed water on his face at the sink. He took a deep breath and scraped his nails against the countertop. One breath, two, and then footsteps followed him into the bathroom. He looked down at his feet.

            “What were you going to say?” Ian asked.

            “Nothing.”

            “Tell me.” A hand came down on Mickey’s back, stroked gently down his spine.

            A chill ran through Mickey. He felt like he had in the bedroom – love and cared for. But he knew better now. He knew that the empty feeling after the act, the lack of eye contact, and Ian’s removal from the whole thing had been the truth. He knew the truth. He batted Ian’s hand away and turned to look at him.

            “I’m pregnant,” Mickey said, swallowing the shake in his voice.

            “Pregnant?” Ian echoed.

            “Pregnant,” Mickey agreed.

            They stood there and stared at each other for a while before Mickey decided he was done with waiting for Ian to formulate a response. He stepped away from Ian, towards the door, and Ian immediately grabbed onto his arm.

            “Wait,” Ian said. “Wait. We need to decide what we’re going to do.”

            “I’m going to get rid of it,” Mickey said.

            “Why?”

            “Because I don’t want to be a fucking pregnant teenager, that’s why,” Mickey said. “You think I study my ass off and let myself get pushed around as a nerd and a goody-goody because I want to? No. I do it so that one day I can get out of this shit town. I have no intentions of keeping your spawn just because it might give me some level of street cred and a shit house in this shit neighbourhood.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Ian said. “I’m not going to abandon you or stop you from reaching your goals.”

            “This isn’t about you. It’s about having a baby. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve already abandoned me.”

            “I didn’t mean to. I just meant—”

            “Save it,” Mickey snapped. “I’m just a bet fuck to you. I get it. It’s not like I never thought that maybe that’s all it was to you. It’s not like I fell in love with you after one fuck. I just thought...”

            “Thought what?”

            Mickey shook his head.

            “Tell me.”

            Mickey met Ian’s eyes again and shrugged. “I thought maybe it meant something to you. You know, being my first time and all I’d like to think it was something more than a fuck to make Trevor happy, but hey. At least it accomplished something.” Mickey stepped to go again, but Ian’s grip only got tighter.

            “Please don’t get rid of the baby,” Ian said. “I’ve never...”

            “You’ve never gotten someone pregnant before?”

            Ian nodded. “I just want... maybe a baby is something that would be good for me, you know? Help me figure out my life. Help me... I don’t know. Help me find something worth living for.”

            “I’m not giving up my life for yours,” Mickey said. “Especially since yours isn’t going anywhere.” He ripped his arm out of Ian’s grip and headed out of the bathroom. The tears were gone now, replaced by rage, and Mickey pulled out his cell phone to dial the nearest abortion clinic. The faster this thing was out of him, the better.

 

Ian broke one of his cardinal rules and spoke to Mandy. They had been friends once, but branched off in high school after he’d told her he was gay and didn’t want to be with her. Everything had changed after that, but he needed her now. As Mickey’s sister, she was the only access he had to him.

            She, of course, was no help at all. She stood by Mickey’s decision to have an abortion and told Ian that if he wanted to keep the baby, maybe he shouldn’t have been such a jackass in the first place. Ian whole-heartedly agreed with her, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. So he left her without any idea what he needed to do.

            All he really knew was that he had to find a way to show Mickey that he cared, to show Mickey that he wasn’t going anywhere. He loved him. He didn’t know when he had figured it out – if it had been when Trevor had first named him in Fuck, Marry Kill, or if it was during the sex or after – but he knew that he loved Mickey Milkovich. Even if he was a nerd. And he’d do anything he needed to protect him and their baby.

            The day after the confrontation, Ian stood up on a table in the cafeteria with a megaphone. He cleared his throat into it and got the attention of everyone in the room, but the only person he was looking at was Mickey.

            “I just wanted to formally apologize to Mickey Milkovich. I shouldn’t have taken a stupid bet to have sex with you,” he said. He saw Mickey’s cheeks burn red and the boy looked away. Maybe the megaphone hadn’t been the best idea. “I want to tell you that I made a mistake. That I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years, but one of the biggest has been not letting you into my life. I’ve had a crush on you since second grade. And by now I think it’s turned into love. I love you, Mickey Milkovich, and I want you to have my baby.”

            The cafeteria exploded into cheers and one of the guys at Mickey’s table hit him on the back to stop him from choking. Ian leaped down from the table and rounded on Mickey, pulled him up from his seat. “What do you say?” Ian said. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

            “Yes,” Mickey said, but his voice was sad and his eyes were on the floor.

            “What?”

            “I already got rid of the baby,” Mickey said, sheepish. “I really can’t risk my whole future and my career path just to make you happy. I couldn’t.”

            Ian was frozen for a moment, disappointment flooding his veins, but then he nodded. He had Mickey in front of him, Mickey who he had liked since the first day he saw him, and he had agreed to be his boyfriend. Ian leaned in and kissed him. “There’s plenty of time to have kids,” Ian said, eyes wide and sparkling. “For right now, is it enough that I love you and want to be with you?”

            Mickey nodded. “I love you too.”


	30. Migraine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey is a few months pregnant and has a huge migraine. He can barely open his eyes so the Gallaghers (all of them b/c he and Ian lives at their place) take care of him.

Mickey attempted to open his eyes and then immediately closed them. The light from between the thin curtains was too much. His head was pounding, worse than any hangover he’d ever had, and when he tried to roll away from the sun, he felt like his whole head rolled with him. He groaned loud and Ian shifted beside him.

            “Hey,” Ian whispered and even his voice sounded like a blaring siren. Mickey whimpered – the first and last time he would ever whimper in his life – and pulled closer to Ian. Ian took him into his arms and kissed him forehead, ran a hand through Mickey’s dark hair. “Are you okay?”

            “No,” Mickey said.

            “Is something wrong? Should we go to the hospital? Is the baby okay?”

            “Shh,” Mickey managed. He closed his eyes tight and bit his tongue. He rolled onto his back. His belly wasn’t yet uncomfortably large, but it was better to be on his back then his side. “It’s my head.”

            Ian kissed his forehead and his temples. “You want me to stay home?”

            Mickey tried to shake his head, then immediately regretted the motion. “No,” he grumbled out. “That might make it worse.”

            Ian nodded his agreement, leaned in to kiss Mickey on the lips, light and quick, then rolled out of bed. “I’ll tell Fiona you’re not feeling well. Maybe she can get the kids to shut up for the day.”

            Mickey grumbled his assent and then pulled the covers up over his eyes.

 

There was a light knock on the door and it edged open. Mickey took a deep breath, then poked his head out from under the blankets. Fiona stood in the doorway with a bowl in her hands.

            “Hey,” she whispered. “Hope the kids haven’t been too loud.” She set the bowl down on the bedside table. “I brought you soup.”

            “Thanks,” Mickey said. He shifted into an upright position and Fiona moved to help him, fluffing the pillows behind him. She handed him the bowl of soup and he sipped at it slowly, even the noise of his own slurping just too loud. But the soup tasted good and its heat coiled in his belly and even for five seconds, he felt better.

            Then a racket started up outside the door. Little footsteps running down the hall and then Debbie screamed, “Be quiet! Mickey needs quiet!”

            “Yeah, quiet!” Carl yelled.

            Mickey nearly laughed, but tears came to his eyes with the amount of pain he was in. The bowl of soup shook in his hands and Fiona took it from him. She set it back on the bedside table, made a motion that she’d be back, and went out into the hall.

            Her hushed whispers did nothing to quiet the kids until she finally raised her voice and ushered the kids downstairs. Mickey could hear every vibration of their feet on the stairs, but once their voices were little more than whispered echoes he was grateful for Fiona’s intervention. She came back and handed him the soup again, apologized for the kids.

            She waited with him while he ate the soup and then took the bowl away, promising that she’d keep the kids downstairs.

            Mickey grumbled something in response and then fell back into bed, the pillows creating a sound barrier around him and the covers giving him respite from the afternoon light.

 

Once the sun had set, there was another movement at the bedroom door. Mickey poked out his head to look and found that it didn’t hurt nearly as much to move anymore. The light going down helped, but even the sound of the squeaking door hinges didn’t ruin his blissful state of half-sleep.

            Ian stepped into the room and smiled at him. He leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Whispering, he said, “You feeling any better?”

            “Much better.”

            “My family take care of you?”

            Mickey nodded, miraculously without pain.

            Ian made Mickey shove over in the bed and climbed in beside him. He kissed him lightly and smiled. “I’m glad. I’m glad this is working here. That everything is working out for us and the baby.”

            Mickey smiled back. “Me too.”


	31. Twins - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A sort of "how-things-turn-out" for Chapter 23

Mickey sat on the couch at Clayton’s house. It’d been six months and he was finally getting comfortable living there. There’d been a few close calls with his dad, but not enough to scare him. And Ian had been there the whole way – something that he hadn’t expected. Maybe he’d suspected that Ian loved him, but he hadn’t believed it until he’d ended up pregnant and scared.

            Of course, one could only be so comfortable on a couch in a stranger’s house when their water had just broken. Mickey stared down at the wet spot on his jeans and called, “Ian!”

            Ian walked in from the kitchen, a dish cloth in his hands and a smile on his freckled face. “Yeah?” he said, not concerned at all with Mickey’s shout. Maybe Mickey shouted too much, but he’d worried about that later.

            “My water broke,” Mickey said.

            Ian stared at him for a few seconds before he went into hospital mode. He called for Clayton and Lucy – only Lucy was home – and together they grabbed the hospital bag and called a cab and got Mickey out onto the curb to wait. Ian coached Mickey through his first contraction while Lucy called the family to meet them at the hospital.

            “How far apart are the contractions?” Lucy asked when she got off the phone.

            “About thirty seconds,” Ian said.

            Lucy swore – a rare occurrence in the six months they’d been guests in her house – and asked the cab driver how long until they’d be at the hospital. Twenty minutes and that was with no traffic, which would be a luxury at this time of day.

            “Uh, we have a problem,” Ian said.

            Mickey could feel that problem. That problem being the baby’s head against the leather of the cab seat.

            Lucy made the driver pull over and pulled Ian from the cab. Mickey turned so he was lying with his legs braced against the frame of the car. The cabby was freaking out, but Lucy was dead calm. Her calm invaded Ian, but did nothing for Mickey. Mickey was about to have a baby in the back of a cab.

            “Okay, breathe,” Lucy said, “and push.”

            Mickey gripped the heads of the leather seats and pushed with all his might. He tried to follow the patterns of Ian’s breathing but couldn’t focus past the insane pain running through every part of his body. Fifteen seconds of relief passed, then he had to push again, tears brimming at his eyes, but Lucy’s voice kept him stable. She pushed him through the worst of it, saying, “Breathe, breathe, breathe. Okay? You’ve got this. Push one more time and your baby should be out.”

            Ian smiled at Mickey. “You’ve got this, babe.”

            Mickey winced at the nickname, but didn’t get the time to reprimand Ian for it. He had to push. And push he did until a crying baby came out into the world and Ian cut the umbilical cord with the Swiss army knife in his pocket.

            “Shit,” Mickey said, breathing heavy. “Shit.”

            “You’re not done yet,” Lucy said. She used her hands to pry Mickey’s legs apart again and ignored his groans. “You’ve got to push for me.”

            Mickey protested, but felt the pain build in his body again and knew the only way to stop it was to push. So his fingernails dug into the leather and he pushed with all his might until another baby popped out into Lucy’s waiting hands. Ian cut the cord again, murmured incomprehensible words of praise.

            Lucy shooed them all back into the cab and made the driver take them to the hospital – paying more for the mess they had left in the cab.

 

Two years later...

            Mandy chased little Dietrich across the floor of the apartment. When she caught him, she picked him up and swung him around in her arms.

            Mickey said, “Watch the roof.”

            Mandy cuddled Dietrich to her shoulder and said, “I would never bump his head.”

            Mickey smiled and let her go back to her game. After all, the exposed wood on the ceiling had been part of the reason Ian had wanted the place. He was at work now – doing well as a janitor at the school – and would be back in a few hours. Mandy had moved into the apartment just over a year ago to help with the babies, and Mickey stayed home most of the time to help her. He had a job at a garage nearby but got minimal hours.

            They had enough to keep the small apartment – two bedrooms and a kitchen – and that was all that mattered. They were going to be okay.


	32. "Accidental" Pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mpreg prompt in which Ian just got Mickey back and is super insecure about their relationship so he's hell bent on getting Mickey pregnant to keep them together (even better if Ian comes up with some crazy cute ideas like pricking a condom secretly haha).

Ian sat up in bed. There was no use tossing and turning all night. He looked down at Mickey’s sleeping form and considered waking him up. They’d been back together for almost a week but Ian couldn’t help but feeling like Mickey was going to leave him or do something stupid to get himself thrown back in prison. Leave him because he deserved it. Get thrown back in prison because that was what Mickey did.

            He nudged Mickey lightly and said, “Hey, you awake?”

            Mickey grumbled, but didn’t move much other than to scrunch his pillow further under his head.

            “I need to talk to you,” Ian said.

            “I’m not in the mood,” Mickey mumbled.

            Ian rolled his eyes. “Talk.”

            “Make a baby by yourself.”

            Ian opened his mouth to retort, then shut it. He looked over at Mickey, sweet Mickey, sleeping scrunched up on his pillow. The man had a heart of gold under his hard exterior and Ian knew just what it would take to get him to stay.

 

Ian waited for Mickey to go to work before he put his plan into action. He Googled how to get a partner accidentally pregnant on an incognito tab and got a lot of judgemental shit about how that wasn’t a healthy relationship. He knew it wasn’t healthy. He and Mickey had never been healthy.

            The one useful thing he found was a tip to fuck with birth control. He could do that. In fact, he should have thought of that himself, but he was too wrapped up in thoughts of keeping Mickey close, keeping Mickey _here_ after what he’d done to him. He never wanted to lose him again.

            He pulled out the box of condoms they kept by the bed and stared at them listlessly. He knew poking holes in them would do the trick, but poke holes with what? Scissors would be too obvious. The only real option was a needle, but he had no idea where the hell in the Milkovich house he would find a needle – of the sewing variety, that was.

            Leaving the condoms where they were, he headed into the bathroom and shifted through the shelves for Mickey’s birth control. When he found the box, he dumped it in the trash. Then he picked it out of the trash and tapped it against the palm of his hand.

            This was a bad idea. All of it was a bad idea.

            He opened the toilet up and started to pop the pills down it. He flushed. Then he put the empty box back where it belonged and stepped away. Time to look for a needle.

            Ian finally found one in Mandy’s room – a rusty one from a sewing project that was left three quarters unfinished on the floor – and proceeded to poke holes in the condoms. It was tedious work. He didn’t know how many holes to poke or how many condoms to go through, so he went through them all, placing them on the floor as he went.

            By the time he was done, it was almost time for Mickey to come home. He shoved all the condoms back into the box and then shoved it into the bedside table. Then he wandered into the living room, turned on the TV, and made himself comfortable in the kitchen. His mind still raced with how he would get Mickey to have sex with him without his birth control – he could say they still had the condoms, were still safe, what were the chances of getting pregnant anyways? – and he barely noticed when Mickey walked through the front door.

            “Hey,” Mickey said. He dropped his bag by the door. “Whatcha making?”

            “Just looking,” Ian said. “You in the mood for anything?”

            “You.” Mickey grabbed a loop in Ian’s jeans and brought him in for a rough kiss. “Hard day at work. Wanna make it better?”

            Ian nibbled on Mickey’s bottom lip. “Mm. Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

            “Making me happy,” Mickey said. “It’s what you fucking live for, isn’t it?”

            Ian kissed him again, a deep long kiss, and that slowed Mickey down for a good five seconds before he was back to grabbing at Ian’s body. Ian pushed him towards the bedroom, manoeuvred them through the door, and then pushed Mickey back onto the bed. He flopped down, a smile on his face, and Ian wiped it off with a kiss.

            Just as he was about to add tongue, Mickey’s cell phone alarm went off. “Birth control,” he mumbled.

            Ian rolled off of him and watched him walk to the bathroom. He heard the rummaging and the cursing and then he came out into the bedroom with the empty box. “I had half a thing of these yesterday.” He threw the box across the room. “Fucking Mandy stealing my pills again.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Ian said. He grabbed for Mickey and kissed him again. “We’ve still got the condoms.”

            “You’re really supposed to use both.”

            “Look at you, Mr. Safety.”

            Mickey pulled out of the kiss with a dark smirk. “I just don’t wanna have a kid running around here, you know? It’s bad enough as it is.”

            Ian was silent for a moment as Mickey pulled out the box of condoms. “Would it really be the worst thing?” Ian said. “Having a kid?”

            “Yeah.”

            “But we’d be family then.”

            “We’re family now,” Mickey said. He tossed the condom at Ian. “What’s up with you? You seem a little out of it.”

            “I’m not,” Ian said.

            “You’re on your meds.”

            “Yeah.”

            “They making you fuzzy again?”

            “No, no. It’s just... do you really not want to have my baby?”

            Mickey blinked. “Of course I do,” he said. He leaned down and kissed Ian on the lips, pushed him back into the mattress and crawled on top of him. He pulled away long enough to add, “Just not right now. Let’s wait a bit. Let’s see.”

            “See?” Ian repeated. “Like see if we work?”

            “What? No, like see if we’re stable.”

            “Like you might leave.”

            “Or you might, or the world might explode, or Mandy could get knocked up first, or a hundred other things.” Mickey rolled off of Ian and sat up at the end of the bed. “Is this what you wanted to talk about last night? Are you worried about me leaving?”

            “Why wouldn’t you leave? I’ve been nothing but a burden to you.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I broke up with you. I got you thrown in jail. Somehow, I don’t know how, I got you back. And I’m just... I’m terrified that’s not gonna last.”

            “So you want to have a kid?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Ian, we’re in no place to have a kid. Not in our relationship and not in our lives,” Mickey said. “Now that’s not to say I’m going to leave. I’d never leave you. I love you.”

            Ian was silent for a moment. “You’ve left me before.”

            “That was a long time ago. Before... everything that’s happened between us. Before I was ready to accept myself. Now it’s a whole different ball game. And I’m in it for the long run, okay?” Mickey said. “How about you put on that condom and I’ll show you just how much I’m in it for the long run?”

            Ian bit his bottom lip. “You don’t want me to put this condom on.”

            “What’d you do?”

            “I poked holes in all of ‘em.”

            Mickey was silent for a moment and then he laughed.

 

Three months later...

            “You got your wish,” Mickey said.

            “What?” Ian said. He looked up from the magazine he was reading.

            Mickey dropped a stick down on the counter. When Ian saw it, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips. Two little pink lines showed on the pregnancy test. The smile came to fruition and Mickey smacked him on the back of the head.

            “Guess I’m stuck with you,” Mickey said.

            “Yeah,” Ian said. “Guess you are.”


	33. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mick's coworker likes him, but Mick is too naive and only treats him as a friend. One day he catches Ian cheating on him (because he's off his meds or something) and he goes to his coworker's place to talk but they end up having sex. After that, he and Aan get back together and some weeks later Mick discovers his own pregnancy. iIan is okay with it, but the coworker starts to get strangely obsessed and tells Mick that he is the real dad of Mick's baby.

Mickey felt like he could barely breathe. He had just seen Ian kissing another guy, hands under his shirt, bodies grinding together. He’d been too ashamed to yell, to burst in, and now he knew that since he’d walked away, they would keep going. Right now, right this moment, Ian was having sex with another guy.

            Mickey couldn’t go home. Home was filled with memories of Ian and their life together, of everything that he’d just seen destroyed before his very eyes. So he found himself three blocks away on his co-worker’s doorstep.

            He knocked on Jeff’s door.

            Jeff opened the door, shirtless and with a hand half through his brown locks. He dropped the hand as soon as he saw Mickey standing on the doorstep. “What’s going on?” he asked.

            Mickey opened his mouth to reply and found that he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he was doing there. Yeah, sure, Jeff was a friend, but he was a work friend. Not a run-to-when-your-boyfriend-fucks-some-other-guy friend.

            But Jeff stepped back from the door and let Mickey in. Mickey sat down on the couch and waited while Jeff brought him water. After gulping down nearly half of it, Mickey blurted out, “Ian cheated on me.”

            Jeff let out a low whistle. “Sorry, man.”

            “Yeah, well,” Mickey said. He ran a hand down his face. “It’s not like this is the first time. And it probably won’t be the last.”

            “That seems like a healthy way to look at it.”

            “Fuck you.”

            Jeff bit his bottom lip and looked over at Mickey. “I’m just saying, if this is a regular thing for you two, maybe you’ve got to start thinking about whether or not it should be.” Jeff leaned in and kissed Mickey on the lips, got no response. He pulled back. “I’d be good to you.”

            “I can’t,” Mickey said.

            “What? Ian gets to have all the fun?” Jeff smiled, a quirky look that made him half-devil, half-angel. He kissed Mickey again and Mickey kissed back, just for a second, before he pulled away.

            “This is a bad idea,” Mickey whispered. But he couldn’t help but find something enchanting in Jeff’s brown eyes, something exciting about them being so different from Ian’s green ones. He licked his lips. “We’re just friends.”

            “We can be friends with benefits.” And this time, when Jeff went in for a kiss, Mickey didn’t push him back.

 

Mickey got home early the next morning to find Ian asleep on the couch, sitting upright. He kicked his legs off the coffee table and headed into the kitchen before he woke. When he did, the clatter gave him away.

            “Mick?” Ian said.

            “In here,” Mickey replied. He started the coffee maker and turned around to lean back against the counter. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to see Ian, didn’t want to face Ian, didn’t want to even deal with Ian. But there was no way he was going to stay and let Jeff make him breakfast after what had happened last night. That would really give him the wrong idea.

            “Hey,” Ian said. He waited until Mickey looked up to say his next words. “I’m sorry about last night.”

            “Why?” Mickey decided to play innocent.

            “I didn’t come home.”

            “Neither did I.”

            “I waited for you.”

            Mickey shrugged.

            Ian sighed. “Look, we’re not going to stand here and pretend we don’t both know where I was last night, are we?”

            “I’d like to hear you say it.”

            “I was at a guy’s place.”

            “Dammit, Ian,” Mickey breathed out. He’d known, he’d known, he’d _known,_ but still the words managed to stop his heart. He could feel the breathlessness push back in, but he fought against it. “This has got to stop.”

            “I know,” Ian said. “I do, I know. I love you. You know I love you.”

            “Do you?”

            “Yes.” Ian stepped in close and kissed Mickey’s forehead, his nose, his lips. He leaned their foreheads together and whispered, “I love you so much and I’m so sorry. I won’t ever do it again, okay? I promise.”

            “That’s what you said last time.”

            “I mean it this time.”

            “You said that last time too.”

            Ian stepped back. “So, what? It’s over then?”

            Mickey stared at Ian for a long moment and then, slow, he shook his head. “Not if you can forgive me too.”

            “Too?”

            “I slept with someone last night,” Mickey said. “A co-worker. I’ve mentioned him before. Jeff.”

            “Jeff’s gay?”

            Mickey shrugged. “Apparently.”

            Ian was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. “Okay, I forgive you and you forgive me.” He stepped close again and kissed Mickey on the lips. “Now whaddya you say we get rid of the smell of other people on us, huh? Share a shower?”

            Mickey kissed Ian back for a long moment before he broke away and whispered, “You really promise it’s the last time this time? I don’t wanna be like one of those low self-esteem chicks that keeps getting knocked around and ignoring it.”

            “I promise,” Ian said. He kissed him again and then stepped back. Their hands interlocked, Ian pulled Mickey towards him. “Plus, now I know there’s a real chance I could lose you.”

            Mickey laughed and followed Ian towards the shower.

 

Three weeks later Mickey bought a pregnancy test at a corner store far away from where they lived. He didn’t need anyone in the Southside knowing that he took it up the ass – let alone that he did it without a condom. He nodded to the cashier and headed home, the test weighing down his pocket the whole way home.

            He expected to be alone when he got there, but Ian was sitting on the couch flipping through the channels. “Hey,” he said. “I got the afternoon off so I thought we could hang out or—” He cut himself off when he saw the look of pure horror on Mickey’s face. “What? What’s wrong?” Ian was on his feet in an instant. “I swear to god I haven’t touched anyone else.”

            “I know,” Mickey said. He almost laughed, but he couldn’t find the strength to. Instead, he pulled the pregnancy test out of his back pocket and showed the bright pink box to Ian.

            Ian stood frozen for a long moment before he said, “Do you need to go?”

            “Drank like two litres of soda this morning,” Mickey said.

            Ian nodded. “Go.”

            Mickey headed off to the bathroom. After peeing on the stick, he came out and set the timer on the microwave for two minutes. Then he stared at Ian.

            “So,” Ian said. “How long have you, you know, suspected?”

            “About a week,” Mickey said.

            Ian nodded. He paced slightly from side to side behind the couch and kept looking up at the time on the microwave. A minute and a half left. “And, if it’s positive?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, what are you going to do?”

            “I don’t know,” Mickey said. He honestly hadn’t thought much further than taking the test itself. But now he felt cold when he thought about aborting it or giving it up for adoption. If there was an it, he wanted it. “What do you wanna do if it’s positive?”

            “You think we’re ready for a family?”

            “I don’t think anyone’s ready.”

            “We just got back on solid ground,” Ian said. And it was true. They had been shaky for a long while, Ian cheating and Mickey passive-aggressive about it. They had barely spoken or seen each other between their jobs. But now things were getting back to normal, Ian was back on his meds, and everything seemed to be on the verge of settling. Until this.

            “A baby’s pretty solid,” Mickey said. “You know, as far as reasons not to cheat go.”

            “I don’t need reasons. I’ve got you.”

            Mickey almost smiled, but decided not to. The line was some gay bullshit for sure and he wasn’t about to fall for it. “Whatever. If it’s positive, it’s positive. We’ll figure it out.”

            “You want to keep it?”

            Mickey swallowed hard and shrugged. Thirty seconds left. “Yeah,” Mickey said. “When I let myself think about it... whenever I thought about it, I thought, you know, if we ever got pregnant, we’d keep it.”

            “Me too.”

            The timer on the microwave went off. Together, they walked back to the bathroom and looked down at the stick. A pink plus sign showed in the little window.

 

Mickey started to show two and a half months later.

            Three months in he started to tell people at work why he was getting fat. People congratulated him, patted him on the back, offered to throw baby showers. He blushed under the attention and found himself oddly liking it, no matter how much he hated everyone at work.

            The only problem was that the more attention everyone else gave him, the less attention that Jeff gave him. Mickey missed his work friend. They used to have lunch every day and chat on their breaks and annoy each other in between. Now Jeff oddly kept his distance and kept stealing glances at Mickey.

            Mickey got sick of it. Four months into his pregnancy, when his bulge was starting to show through the baggiest of clothes, he cornered Jeff in the bathroom. “Hey,” he said, “can I talk to you for a sec?”

            Jeff shook the water off his hands and grabbed for a paper towel. “Sure,” he said. “What do you want?”

            “I want to know why the fuck you’re acting so weird,” Mickey said. “I get that we slept together, but that didn’t seem to be a problem until now.”

            Jeff gave him a look. “And you can think of no reason why it would be a problem now?”

            “Fucking search me.”

            Jeff sighed and turned to look at Mickey. He gestured to his belly. “Think that might be a problem?”

            “What the fuck does my baby have to do with you?”

            “We didn’t use a condom,” Jeff said. “And you’re how far along? Four months? Because we had sex about four months ago.”

            Mickey snorted. “You have any fucking idea how many times I had sex with Ian in that time frame? Because it was a hella lot more times than once.”

            “But you admit it’s a possibility?”

            “A tiny possibility.”

            “But a possibility,” Jeff said. “I want to know. I want to know if it’s my baby in there.”

            Mickey stared at Jeff for a long moment. “No,” he said. “Fuck no. It’s none of your fucking business.”

            “If it’s mine, it is.”

            “Then get a fucking court order for your fucking paternity test,” Mickey snapped. “I’m not putting this baby at risk because you’ve got your head up your ass about whether or not it’s yours.”

            Jeff held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not asking you to take the risk, just asking that when the baby’s born, we figure it out. And if it’s mine, I’m able to see it.” He swallowed hard and added, “And I’d ask, well, that you’d consider raising the baby with me instead of Ian.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Think about it.” Jeff grabbed Mickey’s arm to keep him in place. “Ian’s proven he’s not good to you, not good for you. I’ve done nothing but help you and be a friend to you. Who do you think is going to be a better father to your baby? Me or him?”

            “I love Ian.”

            “I love you,” Jeff said. “I love you and I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

            Mickey stared at him for a hard for a moment, then shook him off. “This is Ian’s baby,” he snapped. “This is Ian’s baby and you’ll stay the fuck away from it, whether or not it’s yours. You don’t get to judge me and my decisions.”

            “I do if it’s my kid you put at risk.”

            “Ian’s not a risk!”

            “Yeah, what’d he do to your other kid? Yev?”

            Mickey swallowed his comeback. Instead, he shook his head and stepped away. He turned and headed out of the bathroom, chilled from head to toe. Jeff had put ideas in his head and now when he reached down to touch his belly, he worried about whether or not Ian would be able to keep it together. He worried about Ian as a father.

            He worried all day until he was able to go home from work and see Ian himself. There he found Ian in the living room among the pieces of a baby crib, on his hands and knees as he read the instructions. Mickey wanted to cry at the sight, but instead he just sat down heavily on the couch.

            “You okay?” Ian asked, not looking up.

            “I love you, you know that?” Mickey said.

            Ian looked up. “You cheat on me again?”

            “No,” Mickey said. He met Ian’s eyes. “It’s just... what if I fucked up the first time I did?”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “The baby. What if it’s not yours?”

            Ian was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. “It’s yours. And I’ll love it no matter what.”

            Mickey rubbed a hand across his lips. “I talked to Jeff today. He wants to be involved if the baby’s his. He wants to know.”

            “And you don’t.”       

            “No. As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours. You’re the dad. And I don’t want there to be a fucking piece of paper out there that tells me anything different,” Mickey said. He took a deep breath to stop himself from crying. The hormones had made him cry a lot lately. “Fuck. I just... I wish I’d never slept with him, you know? So that this wouldn’t be an issue.”

            “Hey,” Ian said. He stood up and sat down beside Mickey on the couch. Taking his hand, he squeezed hard. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever comes our way, whatever the test says, we’ll deal with it. I’m not going anywhere, whether it’s Jeff’s baby or mine, and the odds are in my favour anyways. Okay? Nothing bad is going to happen. Everything is going to be okay.”

            Mickey nodded and kissed Ian. Ian kissed back, all thoughts of the crib abandoned.

 

Waiting for the paternity test turned out to be too much worry for Mickey. He couldn’t sleep at night thinking about it. He couldn’t kiss Ian without thinking about it. He couldn’t see Jeff at work without thinking about it. Was his baby part of the man he loved or the reminder of one small mistake that he made?

            They took the risk. Mickey got the procedure done and both men gave a sample of their DNA for testing. Mickey made it clear that he didn’t do it as a favour for Jeff, that he wouldn’t risk his baby for Jeff. He risked his baby only for his own sanity and he even felt bad about that.

            Nothing happened to the baby though. Everything was fine and two weeks later, the results came in the mail. Ian walked into the living room with the envelope in hand and said, “Do you want to call Jeff?”

            Mickey eyed the envelope. He shook his head. “He’ll know when I tell him,” he said. He grabbed the envelope out of Ian’s hands and ripped it open. “It says Sample One. Who the fuck was Sample One?”

            Ian grabbed the letter back and looked for an explanation of who Sample One was. He couldn’t remember from the clinic whether he was one or two. Mickey reached for the phone first, but Ian took it from him once he dialed. He wasn’t going to let Mickey lay into a receptionist because of a slight issue in paperwork.

            “Who was Sample One?” Ian asked after he rattled off their patient number and result number. He listened to the response on the other hand and said, “All right. I see. Thank you.” Then he hung up.

            Mickey stared up at him from his place on the couch. When Ian was silent for a few moment, he prompted, “Well? Who is it?”

            A smile broke out across Ian’s face. “It’s me. I’m Sample One.”

            Mickey practically screamed as he leaped up from the couch. He didn’t know if he was going to hit Ian for making him wait or kiss him. He settled on option two. Ian kissed back and soon they ended up tangled together on the couch, a happy little family.


	34. A Christmas Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After Mickey tells Ian he's pregnant and Ian rejects him, Ian's visited by the ghost of Mickey's mother who shows him Christmas past, present, and future.

Ian came home from his shift on the ambulance to a room full of his nervous family members. They paced around the living room like they were waiting for a bomb to go off and had no idea how to even try to diffuse it. Ian dropped his bag at the front door and took two steps into the room, trying to see what had thrown everyone off. As far as he could see, there was nothing out of place.

            “What’s going on?” Ian asked.

            “Oh, Ian.” Fiona startled and forced a smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

            “Okay... then why are you all standing around the living room?”

            Fiona looked at Lip who shrugged and shot a glance at Debbie. Debbie looked at her feet, Carl followed suit, and Liam glanced around at his entire family like they were insane. Which, Ian thought, they probably were.

            “Got it,” Ian said. “You feel like telling me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

            Before he could take a full step forward, Fiona caught him by the shoulders. “You don’t want to go in there.”

            “Why not?”

            “Trevor’s in there with Kev and Vee,” Lip said, “and someone else.”

            Ian looked between his two older siblings. “Are either of you going to tell me _who_ else?”

            They exchanged a glance. Lip let out a deflated sigh and raised his hands in exasperation. Fiona took the reins, smiled at Ian, and said, “Ian, you’ve been doing so well lately. You’re on your meds and you have a job and you’ve got your life together and we would _hate_ to see you throw that away because... because Mickey’s back.”

            “Mickey’s back?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ian took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “No worries. It’s over between me and Mick. And I’m sure... I’m sure he knows that.”

            “Ian—” Fiona failed to catch Ian again as he went forward.

            Ian could feel his heart in his chest as he entered the kitchen. From the entrance, he could see the back of Mickey’s head, Trevor’s profile, and Kev and Vee’s shocked-but-pleasant faces. He felt his hands go cold, his body start to shake, but he shook it off. Mickey didn’t have any power over him anymore. Not since Ian had finally broken it off. Not since Sammi had come after Mickey and Mickey had ran, never to be heard from again. Until now.

            “Hey,” Ian said. He took quick steps towards the table before he could chicken out and bent down to give Trevor a kiss hello. Then he raised his eyes to look at Mickey.

            A very, very pregnant Mickey.

            “Mick...” Ian swallowed the nausea in his throat. “Congrats.”

            “Thanks,” Mickey said. He sounded anything but happy about it. “Any chance we can talk without the entourage?”

            Ian looked around at the people in the room. True, he didn’t think he had ever had a conversation with Mickey when there were so many people around, but these people were his family. And he needed his family if he was going to get through this conversation without falling right back into Mickey’s arms. Ian shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

            Mickey glanced at Trevor, rolled his eyes, and said, “Whatever. You’re call.”

            Ian put his hand down on Trevor’s shoulder. “Why are you here, Mick?”

            “It’s not obvious?”

            “Not really.”

            “I’m carrying your spawn, Gallagher. Two of ‘em.” Mickey only allowed Ian a moment of shock before he added, “They’re due Christmas day. And I just thought... well, maybe you’d actually give enough of a fuck to come.”

            “How do I know they’re mine?”

            “We were together nine months ago.”

            “So?” Ian said. He took a step back – from the table, from Mickey, from his burgeoning belly. Now Ian really felt sick. “I don’t know what the fuck you were doing behind my back.”

            “Behind _your_ back?” Mickey scoffed. “In case you forgot, I wasn’t the cheater in our relationship.”

            “This is really the best scam you could come up with?” Ian said. He knew he was scrambling. He knew he _sounded_ like he was scrambling. Because the truth was, part of him knew that Mickey would never have touched anyone else while they were together. A bigger part of him knew Mickey wouldn’t bounce back fast enough to have gotten pregnant right after they broke up. Ian forced himself to breathe. “You get yourself knocked up on some highway and think you can come running back here to me? That I’ll just take you back in the blink of an eye? Do you really think I’m that fucking desperate, Mick?”

            “That’s not what this is _at all—_ ”

            “Take your fucking things and leave,” Ian said. “I don’t believe you. And there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me.”

            A long moment of silence followed, Mickey’s blue eyes hardening into walls of ice. Then he nodded, stood up, and flipped Ian off. “I hope you have a nice life, Gallagher. And I hope you don’t mind when I tell your kids you’re a fucking asshole.” Mickey stormed out the back door.

            After it slammed, everyone stood frozen in the kitchen for a moment. Trevor was the first to move. He grabbed his jacket and went for the back door, stopping only when Ian grabbed his hand.

            “Where are you going?” Ian asked.

            “He’s pregnant and alone,” Trevor said, “and you just threw him out on the street. Where do you think I’m going?”

            “No. Mick’s insane. He’s a liar and a criminal and—”

            “And a fucking human being.” Trevor shook Ian off of him. “Think of that while you sleep alone for the rest of your life.” He slammed the door behind himself.

            Ian stared at the closed door, unable to breathe for a long moment. Lip slapped him on the back and oxygen came back into his lungs with a rush. Ian coughed under the weight of it – of Trevor leaving, of Mickey carrying his babies, of Lip’s hand on his back.

            “You made the right move,” Lip said. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

            Ian nodded even though an itching sensation in his stomach told him Lip was very, very wrong.

 

Ian went to bed that night with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and the dawning realization that he might never sleep a full night again. He closed his eyes, sure he wouldn’t sleep, but woke much later. The time on the clock blinked 3:00 and, even though he stared at it, the time didn’t change.

            Ian rose to a sitting position to find a woman seated on the end of his bed. She was knitting something in baby blue – a blanket maybe or a shirt for a baby. For a long moment, she didn’t acknowledge Ian and then she turned to him with a soft smile.

            “Ian Gallagher?” she said.

            Ian nodded. He glanced towards Liam and Carl, still fast asleep, neither moving a muscle. Then he looked back at the woman and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he said.

            “I’m Valeria Milkovich. Mickey’s mother.”

            Ian shook his head. “She’s dead.”

            The woman rose from the bed and spun around. Her dress – a white nightgown – didn’t move with the motion. Neither did her dark hair. When she stopped to look at Ian with that same gentle smile, he could see through her edges and, with a little effort, managed to squint right through her body.

            Ian felt his blood run cold and he shifted back on the bed. If ghosts were real, if the ghost that had decided to visit him was Mickey’s mother, nothing good could come of it. “What do you want?” Ian asked.

            “Nothing sinister, I assure you.” She offered him her hand. “I simply want to show you the past, the present, and the future if you continue your life the way you are now. I want to show you what Christmas has and will look like for both you and my son.”

            “Like in that book?” Ian said. “The Christmas Carol?”

            Valeria smiled. “My ideas may not all be original.” She shook her hand a bit. “Come with me. I have much to show you tonight.”

            Ian hesitated a second longer but looking into Valeria’s eyes – Mickey’s eyes – he found he trusted her. He took her hand.

 

Ian suddenly found himself downstairs in the Gallagher living room, Christmas morning ten years earlier. He recognized the scene – Fiona with a tray of hot chocolates, Lip and himself on the floor in front of the tree shaking boxes. Fiona set the tray on the table, kissed both of their heads, and went to pick Debbie and Carl up off the couch. She set them down in their brothers’ laps and then sat down herself.

            “All right,” she said. “You can go ahead.”

            “What about mom and dad?” Debbie asked.

            Fiona’s smile almost faltered, but she caught onto it like a pro. She ran a hand through Debbie’s red hair. “They’re going to be asleep for a while, Debs. We may as well go ahead without them.”

            Debbie looked down at her feet, like even at five she could tell that was a lie. Ian didn’t know where Frank and Monica had been that Christmas – they could have been upstairs in their room, sleeping off a binge, or halfway across the country for all he knew – but he remembered that their absence wasn’t uncommon. It hadn’t been his first Christmas without them and it sure as hell wouldn’t be his last.

            Lip pulled the presents out from under the tree. Fiona had made sure to get one for each of them, but hadn’t gotten one for herself. Ian remembered he’d still half-believed in Santa at the time and where Lip could have gotten the money for a gift then... but Fiona smiled through them tearing into the paper like all she wanted was for them to be happy.

            “This was a good Christmas,” Ian said. He glanced up at Valeria. “Why are you showing it to me?”

            “Because this was a good year for both of you. And I want you to see the difference between Gallagher good and Milkovich good.”

            Ian frowned but allowed Valeria to drag him away from the scene before him. They walked through the front door and down the street to the Milkovich house. They entered to see Mickey sitting in the middle of the couch nursing a beer that he’d balanced on his stomach. He was watching the parade on the TV, although it kept cutting out every now and then.

            There were no Christmas decorations anywhere. There were no other Milkoviches anywhere. Ian frowned and whispered, “You left him alone on Christmas?”

            “He offered to stay behind,” Valeria said. “He didn’t want Terry coming home to an empty house and blaming me.”

            Ian shot her a sideways look, but kept his focus on Mickey. “I thought you said this was a good Christmas?”

            “I think it’s one of Mickey’s fondest memories. The first Christmas he saved us from the post-Christmas traditions.”

            “Traditions?”

            Valeria shushed him as the back door slammed open. Terry came in screaming and Mickey flinched but otherwise showed no sign of fear. When Terry rounded the couch and saw the beer on Mickey’s stomach, he flew off the handle. He tossed the beer to the side and grabbed Mickey by the shirt collar. He punched him across the face.

            Ian took an involuntary step forward and Valeria held him back. “You can’t stop this,” she said. “This has already happened.”

            Ian felt sick as he stood there, forced to watch Terry beating on Mickey. When he dropped him, Mickey hit the floor hard, his face a mess of blood and broken bones. Ian wanted to step forward, the wipe off the blood, to do something to help. He was reminded vividly of the night he’d actually gotten to take a swing at Terry and he realized it hadn’t been enough. Whatever he had done to hurt Terry, whatever move he had made, it hadn’t been enough. The man deserved a much, much worse punishment.

            Valeria stepped in between Ian and the scene in front of him. She tilted his chin up to look at her. “We still have more to see tonight,” she said. “Let me take you to the present.”

            Ian almost shook his head. He didn’t want to see the present. He didn’t want to know what other, worse things could be happening to Mickey. But when Valeria cocked her head, gave him a look that very clearly said _you owe him this_ , Ian took her hand.

 

Once again, Ian stood in the Gallagher living room. He saw himself in the middle of their couch, surrounded by his family while Miracle on 34th Street played in crinkling black and white on the TV. Trevor curled into his side and Ian smiled.

            “I get him back?” Ian said.

            “Mickey let him think you were right,” Valeria said. “He told Trevor it was all a ploy to get you back and Trevor believed him.”

            Ian nodded. When he blinked, the scene disappeared and was replaced with the glaring white of a hospital room. Mandy entered the room holding a cup of ice chips. She sat on the edge of the bed and handed it to Mickey, who took a gulp before going back to his book. A big book of baby names.

            The room was filled with people who loved Mickey – his brothers, Svetlana, even Kev was there. After a moment, Mickey said, “Oliver.” Everyone in the room nodded and agreed. Then Mickey started to flip through the pages, every once in a while throwing out a girl’s name that didn’t quite get the same support.

            After a few minutes, Mandy tapped a page of the book and said, “What about Iris?”

            Mickey smiled and everyone else in the room agreed. Mickey closed the book and put it to the side.

            “He looks happy,” Ian said.

            Valeria frowned. “Does he?”

            Ian nodded. In all his time with Mickey, he’d had few occasions to see the other man truly happy. This was one of those moments. Surrounded by family, picking baby names, Mickey felt loved and safe. There was nothing that could hurt him here.

            “Why would you show me this?” Ian said. “Are you trying to tell me that he’s better off without me? Because while that sucks and everything, I didn’t think ghosts just hung around to rub things in people’s faces.”

            Valeria offered a kind, soft smile, and Ian kind of wanted to punch it off her face. “Christmas future is harder to reach,” she said. “I only have enough power left to show you one – yours or Mickey’s.”

            Ian glanced from her to Mickey. And although his heart ached to see Mickey happy without him, he needed to know if it continued. Plus, he had a feeling seeing Mickey happy would be a hell of a lot better than seeing himself dying in a gutter somewhere. “Mickey’s,” Ian said. “I want to see Mickey.”

            She took his hand and the hospital dissolved.

 

Ian and Valeria stood in front of a beautiful two-story house in the North side. Christmas lights shone from the roof and a wreath adorned the front door. Mickey’s brothers and sisters walked up the driveway, slipping and scrambling on the ice, trying to keep a hold of the presents in their arms. Mandy stepped forward and rang the doorbell.

            A young boy answered the door. Ian lost his breath at the sight of him. Even at ten or twelve, the boy was a perfect picture of Ian, right down to the red hair and freckles. Even his warm, slightly cocky smile reminded Ian of himself, and he wondered how deep his genes ran. Silently, he prayed that the boy was healthy and would never have to deal with being bipolar.

            “Hey, Oliver,” Mandy said. “You gonna let us in?”

            Oliver took on a serious expression. “Do you have presents?”

            “Good presents?” another voice asked. A girl joined Oliver at the door, looking about as much like him as Mickey looked like Ian. Her dark hair curled down past her shoulders, landing in clumped patches over the purple flowers on her Christmas dress. Her blue eyes blinked up at her aunt. “Because, you know, last year—”

            “I’m not as rich as your dad,” Mandy said. She landed a kiss in Iris’ hair. “Sue me.”

            The kids stepped to either side of the door and let the family file inside. They almost had the door closed when a man reached out to grab it. In perfect unison, they looked up at the man and screamed, “Daddy!” The two wrapped around the man’s legs and Ian felt his heart stutter to a stop.

            The man, whoever he was, was tall, dark, and handsome. He had a slight beard and gelled back hair, even wore a suit that looked much too expensive to be off the rack. He entered the house with a smile, dragging the kids with him, and Ian ducked in the door behind him.

            Inside, the house was decorated with the kids’ crafts, a fake tree, and ornaments that looked like they would break if they were breathed on wrong. The entire Milkovich family fit comfortably in the living room, not a single one of them looking out of place. They all rose to hug the man – Mickey’s husband, Ian assumed – and kiss him on the cheek.

            “Take me out of here,” Ian said, his breath shallow. “I can’t see this.”

            Valeria’s hand came down on his shoulder, a steadying grip. “You haven’t seen it all yet.”

            Ian wanted to protest, wanted to promise he’d seen enough, that he got the message – Mickey minus him equaled good things for everyone – but then Mickey stepped out of the kitchen. He was fatter than Ian was used to and he walked gingerly, like he did when he had injuries he was trying to hide. When he saw the man, his husband, he smiled, but not in the happy way he had in the hospital. Not like he should have. Mickey allowed himself to be kissed but he didn’t look happy about it.

            “What’s going on?” Ian asked. He glanced from Mickey to the kids. “Are they okay?”

            “They’re fine,” Valeria said. “For now.”

            Ian met her eyes and walked closer to the kids. He knelt down before them and they looked right through them. Oliver seemed content to wait staring at the tree but Iris was watching her parents out of the corner of her eye. Her face lit up the second she caught their attention, but in the moment before they did, there was concern in her eyes.

            The day drew on. The kids opened their presents, hugged their aunts and their uncles and their parents. The adults laughed and drank and ate the food Mickey had prepared. As the clock ticked closer to dinner time, the husband led Mickey away from the crowd. Ian took a step to follow, but paused when he saw Iris tug on Mandy’s skirt.

            “Call the cops,” Iris whispered. When Mandy frowned, Iris lifted her skirt to expose the bruises on her legs. “Now.”

            Mandy went white and Ian immediately knew that Iris had told the wrong person. Sure, Mandy would do anything to protect the twins, but she was a victim herself. The flashbacks would hit her hard – too hard for her to do anything fast enough. From the other room came the sound of a crash, a shout, and Iris tugged harder on Mandy’s skirt, begging her.

            “Time to go,” Valeria whispered.

            “No.” Ian jerked away from her, hard. “Is he okay?”

            “That’s up to you.” Valeria’s fingers wound through Ian’s own and the scene flashed white.

 

Ian woke up to the sound of Fiona singing in the kitchen – something she only did on Christmas morning. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and knew the visceral reaction to his dreams meant that they weren’t just dreams. He looked around for Valeria but didn’t see her. She was gone and it was up to him to save Mickey now.

            Ian jumped out of bed and checked the time. It was only a little before the time of the hospital scene he had seen, so Mickey should be at the hospital. Ian ran down the stairs, made quick excuses to Fiona, and then was out the door before she could say a word. He ran all the way to the bus stop, tapped his foot all the way through the bus ride, and then dashed into the hospital without knowing where he was going.

            He was stopped by a nurse on the fourth floor and after explaining perhaps a bit too much of his current situation, she pointed him towards a room down the hall. Ian thanked her profusely and forced himself to walk the distance to Mickey’s room.

            The door was propped open and, from what Ian could see, he’d come right at the end of what he’d seen in the vision. Mandy was reaching out to touch the book, the name Iris on her lips. Ian took a deep breath as everyone agreed and then entered the room.

            Everyone stopped. Everyone stared. Ian suddenly had no idea what the hell he was doing there.

            “Get the fuck out,” Mickey snapped.

            Ian raised his hands in surrender as Mickey’s brothers moved towards him. “Please, Mick,” he said. “You’ve gotta listen to me. I made a mistake. I know the kids are mine. I know... I was an asshole. Please let me explain.”

            “Let you explain what?” Mickey said. His blue eyes were like ice too cold to be melted. “Why you couldn’t have said this yesterday? Why your posh lifestyle is suddenly more important than I am?”

            “It’s not—”

            “That simple? Yeah, it is. You threw me away like the fucking white trash I am because you’re in a _better_ place now.” Mickey spit the word “better” like it was a curse on his lips. “I’m just here to drag you down. So how about you get out? You get a free fucking pass to walk the hell out of my life. I don’t want me or my children stopping you from being the class A dick we both know you can be.”

            Ian swallowed hard and looked around the room. “Can we talk alone?”

            “No,” Mickey said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

            Ian supposed he deserved that. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, careful to watch Mickey’s brothers for any sign they might attack. “All of this,” Ian said, “everything, is my fault. I’m the one who fucked us up. I’m the one who did this to you. So, please, Mick, let me make it up to you. Let me save you.”

            Mickey laughed. “You think I wanna be your fucking charity case? That’s not what this is about, man. I came back hoping you still loved me, hoping you might actually _want_ to start a family with me. But if that’s not fucking true, if you’re only here because you think you owe me, then get the fuck out. You don’t owe me anything, Gallagher.”

            “It’s not like that.”

            “Then what’s it like?”

            Ian bit his bottom lip. “I love you, Mickey.” Ian took another cautious step forward and wrapped his hand around Mickey’s. He felt the other man’s breath catch, felt the tension in his fingers. “I love you and I want to be here for you and our kids. I don’t want anyone to ever hurt you again, okay? I am here for you until the day I fucking die. And if you don’t want me to be, if I’ve fucked up too much, then I’ll leave. I’ll get out of your life. But if you still love me, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me for how badly I’ve fucked everything up, then please, Mick. Please let me take care of you and the babies. Let me back into your life. I’m fucking begging you.”

            Mickey’s hard exterior faltered and then he nodded. Ian reached forward and kissed him hard, didn’t let go as Mickey’s hands twisted into his hair and held him close. After a minute, Mickey pulled away with tears in his eyes.

            “What?” Ian said. “What’s wrong?”

            “My water just broke.”

 

Ten hours later, as Christmas was coming to a close, Mickey and Ian were finally brought the cleaned up twins. They sat together on Mickey’s hospital bed, Oliver in Mickey’s arms and Iris in Ian’s. Ian had never felt lighter or happier in his entire life.

            Slowly, the hospital staff allowed their families to filter in. The Gallaghers had come nine hours ago and spent Christmas with the Milkoviches in the waiting room. And now all of them, the whole of both families, filtered into the room to see the babies. They took turns holding them, cooing at them, and being berated by Mickey for not supporting their heads well enough.

            Ian sat back and watched the scene unfold, happy he had changed the future.


	35. For The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Some guy comes around claiming to be pregnant with Ian's baby and angst ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this a little differently from how the prompt implies the situation should go, so I hope that’s okay. Also, warnings for ableism and Mickey just not being very nice/understanding about Ian’s bipolar disorder.

Mickey walked down the hall rubbing his eyes. The knock on the door came again. He considered yelling at whoever it was to keep it in their pants but he only had a few more steps until he was there, hand on the doorknob, ready to knock the fuck out of whoever had decided eight a.m. was a decent time to knock on a door in the Southside. For fuck’s sake, the person could’ve just broken in at three a.m., would have been just as bad. Mickey grabbed the bat off the coat rack and undid the chain on the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

            No threat. Just a guy, maybe college-aged, with his hands deep in the pockets of his jean jacket. He looked like he came from money – or, at the very least, more money than existed within the Southside – and his eyes darted from Mickey to the bat to his feet so quick Mickey almost missed his nervous swallow.

            “Whaddya want?” Mickey yawned.

            “I... uh...” The guy swallowed. Mickey had the urge to call him a kid but he really couldn’t have been more than a year younger than Mickey, if he was younger at all. He brushed a hand back through his dark, curly hair and forced a smile. “Does Ian Gallagher live here?”

            “Sometimes.” Mickey shot a glance over the guy’s shoulder but saw no car, no cops, and no back-up. Some debt collector this guy made. “Who’s asking?”

            “Uh... Kyle. Kyle Jefferson.”

            “Well, uh Kyle, Ian’s not here. So.” Mickey made to close the door.

            Kyle caught it with his hand and Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. He expected the guy to back down, to apologize, to run off the porch. That’s what usually happened when he fixed his glare on too-good-for-this-neighbourhood rich kids. But even though Kyle had the good grace to avert his eyes, he kept his hand firmly on the door, holding it open.

            “Kyle,” Mickey said, voice rough, “what are you doing?”

            “I need to talk to Ian. Please. Do you know where he is?”

            “He fucked off.” Mickey swallowed hard. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with a random stranger but Kyle didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon. “Like he always fucks off when he’s off his meds. I haven’t seen him in a week. I doubt his family has either but you’re welcome to talk to them. They’re a couple blocks down. I can draw you a fucking map.”

            “Meds?” Kyle echoed stupidly.

            Mickey shook his head. “It’s none of your fucking business, is it?”

            “Please.” Kyle stepped closer, braced himself against the door. He licked his lips. “I need to get in contact with him. I...”

            “You want money? Drugs? You miss your fucking whore? Good luck with that, but Ian’s not for sale right now because he’s probably halfway to the Mexican fucking border with cocaine stuffed up his ass. So fuck off.”

            “I’m having his baby.”

            Mickey paused in the process of trying to shut the door on Kyle’s foot. “What?” he said, even though he’d heard Kyle well enough. In fact, when Kyle started to repeat himself, Mickey put up a hand to stop him. It wasn’t news. Mickey knew Ian was cheating on him, that Ian had always cheated on him. It was just very, insanely fucking rare for one of the guys Ian fucked to come to the house and say they were pregnant.

            “Can I come in?” Kyle asked.

            Mickey opened the door further and stepped out of the way. He watched as Kyle’s shoes shuffled past. Blue Converse. Mickey shut the door and leaned his forehead against the wood, took a deep, shaky breath.

            “You okay?” Kyle said.

            “Fucking fine,” Mickey said. He pushed back and made his way into the living room. “You want anything? Beer or... well, I guess you can’t have beer. Water? I don’t think we have anything else.”

            “Water’s fine.”

            Mickey poured a glass of water from the sink. He held the glass so tight his hand shook and droplets spilled over the edge. He was surprised the glass didn’t shatter like shrapnel and pierce his heart. He walked over to the couch and set the glass in front of Kyle, then stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. He forced himself to breathe steady, to watch Kyle sip at the water, to not beat the ever-living shit out of him.

            “You’re his boyfriend? Ian’s?” Kyle kept his eyes trained on the dark TV screen.

            “Yeah.”

            “I didn’t know.”

            “You figured it out pretty quick.”

            Kyle smirked. “Who else would answer the door and look half as fucking terrified when he heard the news?”

            Mickey didn’t say anything. He flopped onto the other end of the couch and stared at the blank screen too.

            “You really don’t know where he is?”

            “Not a clue.”

            “You could call him.”

            Mickey shot Kyle a dry look. Like he hadn’t tried calling him. Like he didn’t know exactly what happened when he called Ian while he was manic and in the middle of fucking nowhere. Nothing, that’s what happened. Absolutely nothing.

            Still, Mickey decided to humour him. He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and hit Ian’s number. Then he put his phone on speaker so that Kyle could figure out exactly how much shit he had gotten himself wrapped up in. Knowing guys like him, good guys who came to the Southside to slum it, he’d abort and fucking run before Ian even got back.

            The phone rang for a long time before the voicemail picked up, which meant Ian wasn’t even in it enough to hang up on Mickey. Mickey licked his lips, sighed, and said, “Hey, Ian. I know you’re not listening to these but on the off chance that you ever do, you should know there’s a guy here named Kyle who’s pregnant with your baby. So... call me back.” Mickey hung up.

            Kyle stared at him. “Is that it?”

            “Is what it?”

            “You just call and leave messages he won’t listen to? How long has he been gone? Why don’t you call the cops?”

            “Call the cops on a white trash, mentally ill Southsider? Good luck with that.”

            Kyle looked down at his feet.

            “Look, it’s probably best you just get out of here,” Mickey said. “I’ll give you the money for the abortion if you need it and you can move on with your life.”

            “I don’t want your money. I don’t want an abortion.” Kyle met his eyes. “You think I’d come all the way out here to demand money from someone who definitely has less than me? You think I’d bother to even tell Ian if I just wanted to get rid of it?”

            Mickey swallowed hard. “I’ve been in your situation before, Kyle. And every single fucking time I’ve gotten rid of it. Because Ian... I love Ian more than anything else in the world but right now? For the last couple of years even? I can’t trust him to stick around. I can’t trust him to take care of a baby. I can’t trust him to stay on his meds. And, god forbid, the worst happens and the kid has it too? I can barely take care of myself, let alone Ian.”

            “I’m not you.”

            “You’re here because you want to ask Ian for help,” Mickey said, his voice softening. “And I’m telling you, you don’t want Ian in your life. And if you insist on keeping the kid, you don’t want two sets of screwed-up Gallagher genes in your life either.”

            Kyle stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s a terrible thing to say about your boyfriend. To say about anyone mentally ill.”

            “I know.” Mickey heard his voice break, forced himself to breathe through the tears. He offered his weakest smile. “But you don’t know Ian. You don’t know his mother. And you don’t know how many people have fought so fucking hard to help him get better. He doesn’t want help. Not right now. Maybe in the future. Maybe one day. Maybe he’ll get help and stay on his meds and get better and I’ll get pregnant again and we’ll have a child and a family and a loving home. But I’m telling you, point blank, it doesn’t matter if Ian listens to that voicemail and comes running. He can’t help you until he helps himself.”

            “I don’t know if I can have an abortion. I don’t know if that’s something I can do.”

            Mickey nodded. “I guess it’s hard for some people.”

            “It wasn’t hard for you?”

            Mickey shrugged. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again. You don’t really get to decide for yourself in the Southside.”

            “That’s bullshit.” Kyle shook his head. “I know for you it’s your reality, but really it’s just bullshit. I’m... I’m really sorry you haven’t been able to keep any of your babies.”

            Mickey almost laughed, settled on a smile. “Thanks.”

            Kyle swallowed hard. “If I keep it... if I don’t ask him or you for anything, but I keep it... do you think, maybe, I could tell the kid about Ian? About... I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him, really, but... is there anything good I could tell the kid?”

            “Of course.” Mickey got up off the couch and headed into the bedroom. He fished a shoe box out from under the bed and went back to Kyle with it. He settled the box on the other man’s knees. “Ian was in the military, for a bit. He tested out of English at fifteen. He saved my life more than once. Ian’s not his disease. He’s a good man.”

            “Maybe you deserve better,” Kyle muttered as he tipped the lid off the box. Inside were folded up report cards, medals from the ROTC, and pictures of Ian growing up. “He has a big family,” Kyle said.

            “Yeah. They’re good people too. Fucked up as all hell but... if your kid ever needs anything, they’ll help as best they can.”

            Kyle looked up at Mickey. “Can I keep this?”

            “Yeah. Sure.”

            They spent a few minutes looking through the box before Kyle closed it and said he should be on his way. Mickey walked him to the door, gave him his phone number in case he changed his mind about the baby or anything. Mickey promised to tell him when Ian came back, if Ian came back. Then Mickey shut the door, leaned against it, and sobbed.

 

A week later, Ian came back in the middle of the night. Mickey, from his place in bed, listened to the sound of the front door opening. It wasn’t late enough to worry – just after midnight – and he knew Ian’s movements. He knew how Ian sounded stumbling into the house, his footsteps uneven, his hands banging against the walls as he scrambled for purchase. He knew how Ian opened the door to their bedroom – with shaking hands, turning the knob once, twice, three times before opening it – and how he slid into bed behind Mickey, his breath alcohol-warmed and his tooth-filled kiss at the nape of Mickey’s neck.

            “Hey, babe,” Ian whispered. He giggled and Mickey knew there was more in him than just the alcohol. He worried about how Ian had gotten home, where the car was, what mess he’d have to deal with in the morning. Ian rarely came home before the cops caught up to him – one way or another. Ian bit another kiss into his neck. “You miss me?”

            “Always.”

            “Anything interesting happen while I was away?”

            Mickey thought about Kyle and the baby and how he had to text the guy in the morning to tell him Ian had come back. To tell him _how_ Ian had come back. “No,” Mickey said. “Nothing interesting.” He reached for his phone and deleted Kyle’s contact information. “Nothing interesting at all.”

 

Five years passed in disaster. Mickey’s house had burned down. Mandy had been thrown in jail for solicitation. The Gallaghers had split up and moved into different houses in different towns and barely spoke to each other. Mickey had Ian and Ian had been successfully on his meds for only the last six months.

            He and Ian were out at a cafe in their newly gentrified neighbourhood buying over-priced coffee. Mickey grabbed his cup from the barista, forgot a coffee sleeve, and turned towards the window. Kyle was out on the street, his hand wrapped firmly around the hand of a little boy with an impressive shock of red hair. Mickey froze.

            Ian’s arm wrapped around his waist and he pressed a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

            “I lied to you.”

            “About what? Liking coffee?”

            Mickey almost laughed, then shook his head. He pointed out the window at Kyle who had paused and knelt down in front of the little boy. “You recognize him?”

            “No. Should I?”

            “A couple years ago when you were out on a bender, he came around and told me he was pregnant with your child.” Mickey didn’t dare look at Ian, didn’t dare remove his eyes from Kyle. “And I told him he was better off without you and then I didn’t tell you anything and now... here he is. With your kid.”

            Ian stayed silent for a long moment. “They look happy.”

            “They do.”

            Ian kissed Mickey’s cheek again, hard and sloppy. “I think you were probably right. They’re better off without me.”

            Mickey looked into Ian’s eyes, tried to find the hurt in them, but there was none. He bit his bottom lip hard, tried not to cry. “Don’t you want to go out there? Meet your son?”

            Ian glanced towards the window and then shook his head. “They’re a family. We’re a family. Why screw that up? If he ever wants to meet me, I’m not that hard to find.” He kissed Mickey firmly on the lips and grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

            Mickey nodded and let Ian drag him away from the window. Still he watched as Kyle stood, took the boy’s hand again, and started down the street with a smile on his face. Maybe they really were from different worlds. Maybe it was all for the best.


	36. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey is 7 months along with a boy when he and Ian get into an argument. As a result, Mickey goes back to his house without Ian following him. Mickey wakes up in the middle of the night and goes into premature labor. Mickey and Mandy are informed that the baby is in critical condition and don't know if he'll make it. Ian some how finds out about Mick being in Labor and arrives, but he's too late and misses the birth of his son.

Mickey looked up from his food with a growing sense of insecurity. Watching Ian’s eyes follow other guys around the restaurant was far from his favourite activity, but it seemed to be something he was doing more and more lately. He knew it was the pregnancy. He knew Ian hated his oversized belly and swollen feet and the way he didn’t want to be touched at night. He knew he wanted this baby, this sweet little boy, more than Ian did. What he didn’t know was why the fuck Ian had gone along with it, told him he was all in, comforted him for hours when his hormones got out of whack, if he was just going to leave the second Mickey started looking like a Rollie Pollie.

            “Hey, assface,” Mickey snapped.

            Ian looked back at him, shocked. “What?”

            “What?” Mickey managed to swallow most of his dark chuckle but not all of it. He gestured his fork in the direction that Ian had been looking, towards the tall glass of water leaning up against the jukebox like a ‘60s wannabe douche. “Am I fucking boring you? Because if you wanna ask that guy if you can ram his ass in the bathroom, go right the fuck ahead.”

            “Jesus, fuck, Mickey.” Ian scoffed and shook his head. He stabbed a particularly large piece of chicken with his fork. “I wasn’t even looking at that guy.”

            “Really? That’s what you’re going with.”

            “That’s not _what I’m going with_. It’s the truth.”

            Mickey rolled his eyes and looked back at the guy. He swept his hand over the careful coif of his hair, surveyed the room like a zoologist on Animal Planet, and shot smiles at the girls who passed by. “Looks like he’s straight,” Mickey said. “Not that that’s ever really been an issue for you.”

            “Mickey. Stop.”

            “Why?”

            “Because for the last three weeks you’ve been doing nothing but bitch at me every time I so much as smile at a cashier.” Ian dropped his fork and met Mickey’s eyes steadily. “I’m not stepping out on you. I haven’t been stepping out on you. We’re starting a fucking family, for Christ’s sake.”

            Mickey licked his lips. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

            “You’re right. I’ve given you every reason not to trust me. But at the moment, it’s getting a little fucking ridiculous.”

            “It’s not ridiculous when you’re eye-fucking every guy in the place!” Mickey slammed his hand against the table and tried to swallow the rising panic in his throat. People’s eyes were on him. People knew what the problem was and they knew that problem was with Ian. Mickey almost swallowed his tongue. He lowered his voice and hissed, “If I’m so goddamn ugly, if I’m so fucking unattractive to you, why even let me keep the baby in the first place? Why not send me off with a hundred dollars to fix it myself?”

            “I don’t have a hundred dollars.”

            Mickey recoiled like he’d been slapped.

            “Oh, come on. That was a joke.” Ian reached for Mickey’s hand across the table but Mickey pulled it back. He sighed. “You’re beautiful, Mickey. You’re hot as hell, like always. I love you just the way you are.”

            “Yeah, where’d you get that? The back of a relationship help guide?”

            Ian blinked, his whole expression betraying his distaste for the conversation, his distaste for Mickey. And Mickey tried, he really did, to swallow all the burning anger and guilt and fear inside him. But then Ian said, “I’m so fucking tired of your issues, Mickey. I can tell you I love you and I love the way you look and I love everything about you all goddamn day, but you’ll never believe me. You never have believed me. And I can’t spend every fucking moment of my life making sure you’re happy.”

            All those things Mickey had tried to swallow burst out of him like vomit. “If I’m so fucking hard to deal with, why stay at all? Why commit when you so obviously don’t want to? Why even try to make me happy when you don’t give a single fuck how I’m feeling?” He bit the inside of his cheek to stop more words from coming out but they ripped through his throat all the same. “Sorry if I need a little attention. Sorry if I like it when my boyfriend spends one fucking hour a day with me. Sorry if my pregnant ass is a little insecure. Sorry I can’t be so incredibly fucking perfect for you.”

            Ian sighed and fell back against the booth rubbing his temples.

            “I should just sit here silent and nod along to everything you say and watch in the corner while you fuck other guys, right? That’s what you want? You want someone who is unconditionally there for you and supports you and thinks you’re right about everything so long as they never open their damn mouth about how you treat them? As long as you never need to return that support?” Mickey shook his head and threw down his napkin. “Sorry I’m not a fucking robot, Ian.”

            As Mickey stood to leave, Ian looked up at him with dead eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.”

            Mickey swallowed the pieces of his broken heart as he turned and left the diner. Fiona tried to stop him as he went, tried to slow him down and ask what was wrong, but he dodged out of her grip. If Ian, his own fucking boyfriend, couldn’t be counted on for support, why should he trust a single other Gallagher?

            He felt the tears in his eyes as he walked down the street so he kept his head down and tried to blink them back. He could get home without embarrassing himself. He could make it back to the house without breaking down and having people on the street laugh at him for being a pussy, make fun of his big pregnant belly and how stupid he was to get himself knocked up in this neighbourhood. He knew he was stupid. He knew he was a fucking idiot for not aborting the little guy months ago. He knew that in the Southside he couldn’t trust anyone. Not even Ian fucking Gallagher.

            Mickey walked through the front door without a word and flipped Mandy off when she tried to talk to him. Once inside the bedroom, he slammed the door shut and took a deep, shaking breath. Then he lay down, closed his eyes, and tried not to cry.

            It was a few minutes before Mandy’s soft knock sounded on the door, before she entered without permission, before she quietly lay down beside him and took his hand. The pressure of her fingers against his made him feel oddly, wrongly safe. And the tears diminished to the point where he could fall asleep.

 

Mickey woke to an odd feeling in his belly and a pounding headache. For a moment, he forgot where he was and who was with him and then it all came rolling back. He groaned as pain ripped through him, all the muscles in his belly contracting. He wanted to curl into a ball and forget he existed but given his present condition and the size of his belly, that wasn’t exactly an option.

            The feeling flowed through him again and Mickey let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp. Mandy shot up beside him – many years of having to wake in the middle of the night to avoid getting shot or killed had conditioned her well – and scrambled for a light. When she turned it on, a soft glow spread through the room and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

            “Mick?” she said, soft, cautious.

            Mickey groaned again, refusing to open his mouth and let the whole sound out again. He closed his eyes tight to stop himself from crying.

            “Are you in pain?” she said. Then, seconds later, “We need to get to the hospital.”

            Mickey reached back and grabbed for her hand. When she gave it to him, he knew he’d squeezed too tight. He choked out the words. “We can’t afford it.” A deep breath. “We didn’t budget for... for more emergencies...” He tried to hold in another scream and failed. The sound reverberated through the bedroom. “We can’t.”

            Mandy ripped her hand out of his grasp and got to her feet. “We’re going to the hospital.” He heard the noise of her getting ready – her jacket flapping out behind her, the cursing as she struggled to slip into her sneakers. She said, “We’ll deal with the bills later.”

            Mickey let out a weak laugh. “We’ll drown under the bills. We’re already drowning.”

            Mandy lay her hand on Mickey’s cheek. “Mick, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I do know if we don’t go to the hospital right now, then there is a very good chance that all the bills we’re already drowning under will have been for nothing. We’ll have all that debt and we won’t even have a baby to show for it.”

            A sob racked through Mickey. Whether from the pain or the thought of losing the baby, he wasn’t sure.

            “I’m calling an ambulance.”

            Mickey tried to tell her not to but he couldn’t make himself form words anymore. He curled up as best he could and listened to Mandy relay information into the phone. As she whispered, she ran her fingers through his hair and he could feel her shaking. He pressed a hand to his belly, silently asked the baby to be okay, to hang in there, to stick with him as the pain worsened.

            Lights and sirens and people everywhere didn’t help the pain. But eventually the paramedics got him into an ambulance and Mandy held his hand the whole way to the hospital and the painkillers took some effect. He could breathe by the time they got him into his room, settled him and sent in a doctor. The long and quiet exam took all of Mickey’s patience, every inch of his willpower, and made him bite his tongue to stop from screaming or crying.

            “All right, Mr. Milkovich,” the doctor said with a sigh. “It seems like you’re going into labour.”

            “No.” Mickey tried to sit up but found he couldn’t move very well. “No, I’m only seven months in. I can’t be in labour.”

            “Unfortunately, you are. These things can be triggered by stress and other factors. And given the complications with your pregnancy, it’s not unexpected for you to go into labour prematurely.”

            Mickey tried and failed to breathe. “And you didn’t fucking think to warn me about that?”

            “I’ve told you many times, Mr. Milkovich, that you and the child are at increased risk.” The doctor swallowed hard. “But now is not the time to argue with me. You’re in labour and we can’t stop it. And the reason you’re in so much pain is because the baby is breach. I’m going to need you to sign the forms so that you can go in for an emergency C-section.”

            “What?” Mandy said.

            “It’s a procedure we do all the time. Nothing to worry about.”

            “The baby’s too young, too small,” Mandy said, her voice shaking. “You said he had to stay in for the full term. You said he wouldn’t survive anything else!”

            “Unfortunately, that’s no longer an option.” 

            “So you’re gonna kill him?” Mickey said.

            “There is a chance he’ll survive. A very good chance. Ninety percent of babies delivered after twenty-six weeks survive.”

            “And the other ten percent?”

            The doctor handed Mickey the release form for the surgery. “We have to do this, Mr. Milkovich. If we don’t, it’s not just the baby at risk. It’s you as well.”

            Mickey’s hand shook but he signed the paper and gave it back. Before he let go of the clipboard, he looked the doctor in the eye and said, “If my baby dies, I’m gonna sue you and this entire hospital, all right?”

            The doctor nodded and exited the room. Mickey lasted about three minutes before the tears came again and Mandy wrapped her arms around him, whispering soothing words that meant nothing, less than nothing, when the baby might not survive.

 

Mickey woke groggy and unsure about everything. As his eyes adjusted to the hospital light, he felt a hand carding through his hair and pressure on his fingers. He managed, “The baby. How’s the baby?”

            “He’s alive,” Mandy said.

            Mickey turned his head to her, saw the tears streaking down her cheeks. She wasn’t the one touching him though. He frowned. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

            “He’s in critical condition.”

            Mickey turned to the sound of the voice, to the touch in his hair, to the fingers squeezed around his palm. He turned to the sound of Ian’s voice, to the soft and serious expression on his face, to the tear tracks that mirrored Mandy’s.

            “They’ve got him in the NICU and he’s stable, but they’re not sure about anything.” Ian’s voice caught and he squeezed Mickey’s fingers tighter. “He’s so small, Mick. And he wasn’t crying and—”

            “Why are you here?” Mickey said.

            Ian’s mouth stayed open around words he’d been about to say. He looked like Mickey had slapped him and Mickey wondered why, how he could have done that to him right now. But he didn’t open his mouth to apologize. He watched Ian scramble for words, for thoughts, and finally Ian said, “Mandy called me. She thought I should be here for the birth of our son.”

            “Were you?”

            “I... I missed it.”

            “Me too.”

            Ian smiled and stepped closer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for making you feel like a burden, for getting annoyed with you, for... everything. Mickey, it’s our son in there. We need to be here for each other. We can’t... we can’t go through this alone.”

            Mickey nodded and let Ian lean down and kiss him. Mickey reached up and pulled him in further, deepening the kiss. He only broke away when Mandy noisily cleared her throat.

            “I’m gonna get coffee. Do you guys want coffee?”

            Mickey laughed. Ian blushed and accepted her offer.

            After a couple minutes of awkward shifting, Mickey managed to move over enough that Ian could crawl into bed with him. The room was big and bright, complete with beeping monitors and an empty crib where the baby was supposed to go. Ian kissed Mickey’s cheek, his neck, and cuddled in close.

            “I’m sorry too,” Mickey said. “I’ve been letting my hormones get the better of me. I know... I know you love me.”

            “And you love me?”

            “Of course.”

            Ian threaded their fingers together and rested his head against Mickey’s chest. The TV was turned to a channel playing old cartoons with no sound, only subtitles. Mandy came back with coffee and sat down at the side of the bed. Slowly, the room filled with nervous and somber Gallaghers who became less somber and more boisterous as time passed. Mickey found himself laughing at Carl’s antics, at Debbie’s parenting tips, and smiling at Fiona as she fluffed pillows and tried to control the chaos.

            Hours passed before the doctor came back to tell them they could see their baby boy if they wanted. Those words froze the whole room, brought the mood right back down to reality. Ian looked at Mickey and Mickey looked back. They squeezed each other’s hands.

            The doctor helped Mickey into a wheelchair and Ian rolled him down the long hallway to the NICU. Through the window, Mickey couldn’t tell which sick, small baby was theirs. A couple other parents were in there, sitting beside glass cases, holding their babies’ tiny hands. Mickey took a deep breath as he was rolled towards a baby in the back and told it was his son.

            He couldn’t see his son in front of him. Couldn’t see the kid he’d thought he’d have. The tough Southside boy with a heart of gold. A kid who had all his street smarts and all Ian’s charm. A kid who would throw the baseball with him, laugh at his dumb jokes, and roll his eyes when he dropped him off at school. He couldn’t see the love he thought he’d have for the kid, the love that burned so bright because he hadn’t been loved by his own father. He couldn’t see a kid at all.

            There was only the baby.

            The tiny, sickly baby with tubes coming out of it.

            Mickey felt tears, sticky and wet, against his cheeks.

            “Come on, Mick,” Ian urged. He reached forward and poked a hand through one of the covered holes in the case. When he touched the baby’s fingers, his little hand opened and tried to grip Ian’s outstretched finger. Ian laughed. “He’s strong.”

            “He is?”

            Ian’s other hand touched Mickey’s back, a warm and heavy comfort. “See for yourself.”

            With a trembling hand, Mickey reached forward. His hand felt weird going through the hole and the inside felt like a different universe altogether. He took a deep breath and brushed the baby’s hand. It reached and gripped and Mickey felt a pull on his finger. A breathless, half-sob, half-laugh left his mouth.

            “See?” Ian said.

            “He’s so strong.”

            “He’s gonna be fine.”

            Mickey shook his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t jinx it.” He tickled his finger against the baby’s palm.

            Ian kissed the top of his head. “Milkoviches are fighters. Gallaghers are survivors. There’s no way he goes down this fast.”

            Mickey blinked back the tears filling his vision and shifted closer to the case. He tried to soak up all the warmth from his baby’s palm, all the love from that simple touch. He rested his forehead against the glass and whispered, “If you make it, kid, if you win this fight for me, I swear to god I will take care of every other fight from here on out.”

 

A week later, Mickey walked into the house after Ian. He looked down at the bundle of blankets in his arms, at the tiny face peeking out at him. “And this,” he whispered, perfectly aware his son was fast asleep and in no way listening to him, “is your home. This is where you’re gonna live when we’re not dragging your ass back and forth to the hospital every few days. You’re gonna sleep here. You hear me? You’re gonna fucking sleep, you little bastard.”

            Ian laughed and stepped forward to look down at him. “He’s sleeping now,” Ian said. “You can probably drop the threats.”

            “Just want him to know who’s in charge,” Mickey cooed. “Want him to know he can’t run the place just because of his cute fucking face and those adorable little noises. You hear me? You’re not cute enough to steal my sleep, all right? You’re not that cute.”

            Ian chuckled warmly and leaned his head against Mickey’s. There, in the hallway, they made a cocoon of warmth around their baby boy. Ian pulled the blanket back from his face and let his fingers touch a warm, rosy cheek. “We should name him,” Ian said.

            Mickey hesitated, his breath catching. “The doctor said he’s not out of the woods yet.”

            “He’s in our home,” Ian said. “He’s in your arms and he’s breathing and he’s okay.”

            “But—”

            “Mickey, at this point, if you think not naming him is going to stop you from getting attached—”

            “I know,” Mickey snapped. He swallowed hard and held the baby closer. “I just... I can’t lose him, Ian. I can’t.”

            “I know.” Ian tilted his head and brushed his lips against Mickey’s. “But if we don’t name him, he’s gonna think his name is ‘little bastard.’”

            Mickey laughed and stepped away. “Fine.” He headed towards the bedroom and approached the crib they had built three weeks ago, back when Mickey had complained that they had forever to build a crib and didn’t need to do it anytime soon. He set their son down slowly and stepped away. “What should we call him?”

            Ian leaned against the doorway and watched them. “How about Andriy?”

            Mickey looked up with wide eyes.

            “You said once that your mother wished she’d called you that,” Ian said. “That she’d wished she’d given you a name of courage, a name that would get you through everything the world threw at you.”

            “I don’t want the world to throw anything at him.”

            “It already has,” Ian said, “and he survived.”

            Mickey glanced down at his sleeping baby and touched his tummy with a gentle hand. Feeling his breath under his hand, Mickey whispered, “Andriy,” like a promise, like a prayer. He nodded. “It’s perfect.”

            Ian came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He kissed the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and they stood side by side like that, looking down at their sleeping son, for a long time.


	37. Stretch Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey is about 6 months along and has some bad stretch marks, so out of curiosity he looks up how much bigger he'll be getting and then realizes he'll get worse stretch marks and begins to cry. Ian has to comfort him.

Mickey sat on the couch half-watching the football game. Really, his attention was on his protruding belly and the stretch marks snaking their way around it. He rubbed the rough skin with his fingers, frowning, and felt the baby kick against the palm of his hand. Stupid little guy. Thinking he could kick his way out. Already a fighter.

            As Mickey stared at his belly – and someone scored a touchdown – he wondered about the size of his belly. He was six months along which meant he was about two-thirds as big as he was going to get. Of course, he’d barely grown at all in the first three months, so he wasn’t sure on the math. His belly was already big and round, just not bursting, and the stretch marks seemed to keep appearing like his skin was really just an elastic band that the kid was stretching and stretching and stretching to see when it would snap.

            On a whim, he went through the grueling task of reaching forward to get the family laptop off the coffee table. Five minutes later, after he had winded up on the floor, Mickey got it booted up and connected to the neighbour’s internet. He Googled how much he could expect to grow between the six month and nine month mark.

            _Babies gain most of their weight in the third trimester. A baby can be expected to grow up to six inches in the last three months of pregnancy. Expectant parents rapidly gain much more weight than they’re used to during the last trimester._

Mickey stared at the words. He read them again and again and then one more time to be sure. He could feel his breathing get shallow as he looked down at his exposed belly. He was already too big for his shirts, too big to get off the couch, and big enough that his skin was _stretching._

            He shut the laptop to stop himself from reading the words again but it was no use. He felt the panic set in, the emotions rising, all the things he hated about being pregnant. Stupid fucking hormones.

            The front door opened and Ian called, “Honey, I’m home!”

            Mickey tried to hide his sniff and regulate his breathing. He stared blankly at the TV screen and held it all in, didn’t even acknowledge Ian’s presence as he came into the living room and bounced onto the couch. Ian kissed the top of his head and Mickey let out a shaky breath, hoped it didn’t show.

            “How’d you wind up on the floor?” Ian said.

            “Laptop,” Mickey managed.

            Ian reached forward and opened the laptop. Mickey grabbed for his hand, trying to stop him, but Ian had easily woken the computer. The article title was like a fucking siren: _Weight Gain & Stretch Marks: The More You Know_. Why the fuck hadn’t Mickey thought to close the webpage? Clear the search history? Throw the computer out the fucking window?

            Ian’s hand came down on his shoulder. “You okay?”

            “Fine.”

            Ian squeezed and Mickey closed his eyes, fought against the catch in his throat. The first of the tears prickled down his cheeks and he cursed all the hormones that made it so hard for him to hold back his emotions. He’d spent his entire life learning how to swallow his feelings hole. The pregnancy felt like a big _fuck you_ in return for all that effort he’d exerted, all the tricks he’d learned that no longer worked.

            “Thought we decided you weren’t gonna look at things like this anymore.” Despite what he was saying, Ian’s voice was soft and his hands started to massage Mickey’s shoulders. Mickey shook through a sob and Ian waited before saying, “You get all worked up over things we both know you don’t really care about.”

            Mickey almost laughed but it was a wet, pathetic sound. He pressed in to the feel of Ian’s hands, to the warmth of him settled behind him. “The stretch marks are just gonna get worse,” he whispered. “It already looks like this baby’s trying to tear its way out and they’re just gonna... I’m just gonna grow and grow and grow.”

            Ian buried his nose into Mickey’s hair and pressed a long, hard kiss to his skull. Mickey almost laughed again. Or maybe he wanted to believe it was laughter so that he didn’t have to admit he was crying, _sobbing,_ while Ian sat behind him and waited, patient as ever.

            “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Ian whispered. He nuzzled into the crook of Mickey’s neck. “And you’re only getting more and more beautiful by the day.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “No. You know I’m right. You know you look better with that baby in you than you ever did before.”

            Mickey actually laughed now.

            “And those stretch marks, you know I love them.” Ian sucked on Mickey’s earlobe. “You know I appreciate each and every one of them. You know that as soon as that baby’s out, I’m gonna worship those fucking stretch marks because they’re signs of how strong you are. How brave. How goddamn amazing you are for carrying a living human being for nine months. I can’t even imagine. But I’m so happy you’re doing it. For me. For us. For that little guy.” Ian turned Mickey’s head and kissed him on the lips, soft and sweet and short. “Those stretch marks, those are your new scars.”

            Mickey frowned as he looked into Ian’s sea-green eyes.

            “You always tell me your scars prove you’re brave and strong and that you can survive.” Ian smiled. “I can’t think of anything that proves that more than the marks of carrying our child. The marks that show you are incredible. Invincible. Those are the scars that matter.”

            Mickey leaned in and kissed Ian again as the last of the tears slipped out. He kissed slow and lazy, knowing the angle had to hurt Ian, knowing he couldn’t get off the floor if he tried. He smiled against Ian’s lips. “Thank you.”

            “Thank _you_ ,” Ian said. “You’re amazing.”

            Mickey’s smile widened and he held Ian close even though they were no longer kissing.


	38. All About Ian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you think you could do an Ian mpreg, maybe a labor and delivery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is def the plot of a Friends episode, if you're wondering.

Ian felt like he was carrying the weight of the world in his belly. Maybe his baby would be the President one day or the doctor who cured cancer. Those were the only possibilities Ian could think of as to why the baby was _so fucking heavy._ Although, he hoped the President or a doctor even would be smart enough to get the fuck out on or before his due date and not make him carry the massive weight of their giant brain around for a whole extra week.

            Mickey had taken time off work to hang around in case Ian went into labour and was too fat to get himself off the couch and to the hospital. Ian resented it as much as he liked it. Mickey’s attention had been a rarity once, a gift he thought he’d never see more than once, and having him focused and affectionate for three straight days was like a blessing from above. But Ian’s hormones shouted and tore at his brain and made him snap and whine and complain while Mickey took it all in stride like a goddamn housewife.

            Or, more likely, Mickey took it in stride because he thought it was _fucking hilarious_ for Ian to be threatening him when he could barely stand.

            “I can’t do it anymore,” Ian said. He raised his voice to be sure Mickey could hear him – he was lying on his back on their ratty old sofa and Mickey was somewhere in the house, he thought – and continued, “I refuse to keep being abused in this way. This has to be some sort of human rights violation. Some sort of assault.”

            “I don’t think you can sue an unborn baby.” Mickey’s voice was close and then he was close, looking down at Ian from above. He pressed a cold washcloth to Ian’s forehead and Ian felt some of the constant heat in his veins cool.

            “I can’t do it anymore. I won’t do it anymore.”

            “It’s a little late to abort.”

            “Then we’ll schedule a C-section.”

            “Yeah?” Mickey swiped the washcloth down Ian’s cheek and chased the trail of water with his fingers. “With what money, Gallagher?”

            Ian groaned and closed his eyes. He wanted to put his hands over his face and forget the world, forget the weight of his stomach, forget how fucking hot it was, and just sleep. But putting his hands over his eyes would mean pushing off the washcloth, pushing off Mickey’s loving touch, and that was about the only thing Ian could stand right now. Mickey. Mickey was the one good thing in the hell of this pregnancy.

            “What about those tips the doctor gave us?” Ian said. “About naturally inducing labour.”

            “You didn’t like any of them.”

            “Try me again.”

            Mickey chuckled, flung the washcloth down on Ian’s neck, and walked away. Ian stared at the ceiling and half wished it would fall on his head. He heard Mickey settle heavily into the armchair – its springs and wooden creaks gave it away. “All right,” Mickey said. “Their first tip is to get some exercise.”

            “Fuck that.”

            Mickey chuckled. “They mean go for a walk or something, not lift weights, Batman.”

            “Still fuck that.” Ian grabbed the washcloth and laid it over his tired eyes. “Who the fuck wants to go for a walk in this fucking heat?”

            “You better watch that mouth around our baby.”

            “Fuck you.”

            Mickey smothered most of his laugh but the sound still banged against Ian’s nerves. “Okay,” Mickey said. “Next is spicy food.”

            “No.”

            “You could try it.”

            “I don’t want my mouth to be on fucking fire along with the rest of me.”

            “Some sort of tea—”

            “The next person who suggests I eat heated leaf water can go fuck themselves with a chainsaw.”

            “Acupuncture—”

            “With what money?”

            “Acupressure—”

            “What. Money.” Ian groaned and tried to sit up but was reminded of the bowling ball he had swallowed. His head banged back down on the couch cushion and he grumbled some more. “Come on, Mick. There’s gotta be a better fucking way of going about this. There’s gotta be something we can actually do for free that doesn’t involve me fucking moving.”

            Mickey laughed.

            “What?”

            “The next suggestion is sex.”

            “Bullshit. You’re just saying that because I haven’t let you touch me for a month.”

            Mickey flung the pamphlet at Ian and it hit him in the face. Ian managed to catch it before it slid off him – a minor miracle given his ridiculously slowed reaction time – and he opened it up to the list of suggestions. Slowly, he scanned all the things Mickey had already said until he reached _sex_ written almost as an afterthought.

            Ian frowned and grumbled, “You skipped nipple stimulation.”

            “Yeah, because nipple stimulation would lead right to sex with you.”

            “Fuck you.” Ian tossed the pamphlet back but he knew from the pathetic flutter of the pages that it had landed on the floor.

            Mickey stayed silent for a long moment. Then the armchair creaked – releasing Mickey and his weight and his lies – and footsteps headed out of the room. Ian sighed. He really didn’t mean to keep snapping at Mickey, to keep antagonizing him at every turn. He just wanted the fucking baby out of him and he wanted to do it without getting yet more sweat all over his skin.

            “Mickey,” he called, hearing the catch in his voice and damn him if he was going to cry _again_ today. Ian swallowed hard and tried again. “Mickey!”

            The footsteps came back. Mickey’s face appeared over him.

            “We can try the nipple stimulation.”

            Mickey almost laughed at him – it was really more of an exhale paired with a smile – and he nodded. With cold fingers – goddamn, if Ian had known how cold Mickey was he never would have kicked him out of bed – Mickey pulled up the hem of Ian’s oversized t-shirt until his chest was exposed. Ian wanted to complain that having his t-shirt up under his armpits was uncomfortable and hot and only made him sweat more, but he bit his tongue when Mickey brushed his thumb over a nipple.

            Ian had forgotten. He had forgotten everything. From the roughness of Mickey’s callused fingers to the practiced way he moved his hand to how every squeeze and rub and flick went straight to his groin. Ian had forgotten it all, right down to how safe he felt in Mickey’s hands, how easily he turned to putty when the other man worked to take him apart.

            Mickey leaned over Ian and pressed his lips to one nipple. He took it between his teeth and Ian groaned, reaching to hold Mickey against him as his tongue licked at his skin.

            Ian felt himself getting hard, a strange sensation with his belly so big. His dick felt like it was straining against more than just his sweatpants. It was like there wasn’t even room for it to get all the way up.

            “Mickey,” Ian groaned. He pulled at Mickey’s hair to get him to come up so Ian could press kisses to his face, find his lips and pull him in like he was oxygen. Mickey laughed into the kiss and Ian grumbled something mean, wanting only Mickey, not his sarcasm or his love or anything else, just him, plain and simple. Just the press of their bodies together and some fucking friction on his dick.

            “Changing your mind about that last option, huh?” Mickey teased.

            “Fuck me or shut the fuck up,” Ian breathed.

            When Mickey pulled back, his eyes were shining like a thousand blue stars. He licked his lips, the smile disappearing, and walked around to the other end of the couch. With one tug, he got Ian’s pants down and started nosing at his thighs, leaving bites and kisses along his skin.

            Ian moaned. “Fuck foreplay. Get to it.”

            Mickey laughed against his thigh. “Patience.”

            “For someone whose been bitching about not getting laid lately, you sure do take your sweet damn time.”

            Mickey looked up at him, a gracious smile on his face, and Ian felt all the anger and annoyance drain out of him. All he felt was his throbbing cock and his oversensitive nipples and the press of Mickey’s fingers on his thighs. And, all of a sudden, something else. Something wet and gooey spreading down his legs and ruining his underwear.

            “Shit,” Mickey said.

            Ian covered his face with his palms. “How gross is it?”

            “Pretty fucking gross, man.”

            “Fuck. I’m sorry. I have no fucking control over—”

            “Your water breaking?” Mickey said.

            Ian opened his eyes. “What?”

            “You’re in fucking labour.” Mickey had gotten off the couch, pulled Ian’s pants back up, and had slung the baby bag over his arm all while Ian had been embarrassed. Mickey offered Ian both his hands. “Come on. Get up. It’s time.”

 

It was not, in fact, time.

            Apparently, water breaking did not mean that the baby was ready to come out. It did mean they should probably stay in the hospital, that even if the contractions were far apart it wasn’t a good idea to be walking around – yeah, walking around, that was going to happen – and Ian had to lie in a bed and wait. And wait. And wait. While doctors and patients and other pregnant people wandered around like it was a goddamn drive-thru and he was stuck at table service.

            Mickey brought ice chips and sat at Ian’s side and rolled his eyes at his grumbling. Ian’s boner had, thankfully, gone down on the way over and stopped him from completely embarrassing himself on the way over. But that didn’t stop him from kicking Mickey’s chair after they’d been in the hospital for three hours and saying, “You wanna try it again? See if you can actually get it to fucking come out this time?”

            Mickey chuckled. “I feel like the hospital staff frowns upon that.”

            “You think we’d be the only people to ever have sex in a hospital? Have you watched TV before?”

            Mickey’s pure, affectionate smile was beautiful and it made Ian want to punch his teeth out.

            “You want more ice chips?” Mickey said.

            “Why are you so fucking cheery?” Ian groaned. He dropped his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Is it because you don’t have to carry this bastard? Is it because by some freak miracle of nature I became pregnant and not you? Is it because we fucked that _one time_ when I was too drunk to top and now I’m in fucking agony because of your mutant fucking sperm and that makes you fucking happy?”

            Silence.

            Ian started getting even angrier because Mickey refused to acknowledge that all of this was his fucking fault.

            Then the nurse cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Gallagher. But I have to check your dilation.”

            “Again?”

            “Again.”

            Ian sighed and let himself be manhandled. He accepted the diagnosis of five centimetres with a cheeky smile and glared at the nurse once he’d turned his back. As soon as the door shut, Ian said, “The baby’s gotta be bigger than five fucking centimetres. Can’t it just crawl that far? Can’t I just push it the fuck out from there?”

            “Unborn babies don’t crawl.”

            “Shut the fuck up. This is your fucking fault.”

            Mickey laughed. “I wasn’t the one who downed two six-packs and then begged you to fuck me.”

            “You should have refused,” Ian said. “I was drunk, clearly, and not thinking straight.”

            “You’re never thinking straight.”

            Ian wanted to explode with rage. Instead, a little bit of pee slipped out and he started to sob. In seconds, Mickey was at his side, brushing back his hair, wiping the tears off his cheeks. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ian’s lips and said, “Hey. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

            Ian laughed bitterly. “We won’t forget the condom next time.”

            “How much longer could this last anyways?” Mickey said. “You’re already a week overdue. That little dude’s gotta be getting tired of it in there by now, right? Wants to see the world? Travel a bit? Can’t imagine how bad the view must be from in there.”

            Ian laughed and pulled Mickey down to kiss him again. Their lips were salty, the kisses sloppy, but Ian felt okay knowing that it couldn’t be that much longer. It would all be over soon. Or it would all start soon. Whatever.

 

A whole day passed. The space between Ian’s contractions got smaller, his dilation got bigger, but never enough to be put into a delivery room. Mickey started to argue with the nurses. Ian started to argue with everybody. Fiona came by and put the fear of God into Ian’s doctor but even that didn’t speed up the process. Mandy came by with a gift basket thinking she’d missed the birth since her phone had been dead for so long but was disappointed to find Ian and Mickey sitting around playing cards and sweating and swearing at whoever came through the door.

            After thirty-six hours, the nurse said, “You’re at ten centimetres. It’s time to move you to delivery.”

            Ian looked up at her blearily. He hadn’t slept since getting to the hospital – between the contractions and the hormones and the incessant noise, it wasn’t possible – and the nurse’s words rang false. He thought maybe he had fallen asleep and now he was having the most wonderful dream that would end with a painful contraction and the knowledge that it had all been a lie. The baby and its fat head and its worldly weight were still with him.

            “Did you hear me, Mr. Gallagher?” the nurse repeated. She was new on shift and still bright and friendly, unaware of how awful he was. “It’s time. You’re going to have your baby.”

            “Mickey,” Ian mumbled.

            “Yeah?”

            “I’m having a baby.”

            Mickey half-groaned, half-yawned. “Tell me how that goes.”

            The nurse looked between the two of them, confused. “I’ll... I’ll go get the doctor.”

            A few minutes after she left, the news sunk in. Ian woke up enough to be terrified that an actual human being was about to come out of him. Mickey woke up enough to hold his hand and kiss his knuckles and promise him that everything would be okay.

            The nurse came back with a few others and Ian’s entire bed was moved out of the room. He knew Mickey was following, that his footsteps were among those of the nurses, but he couldn’t see him and his heart jumped into his throat. Then Mickey’s fingers found his along a stretch of hallway and Ian squeezed so tight he felt like he might have broken bone. A contraction ripped through him and he remembered more than heard Mickey’s soft instructions in his ear.

            The delivery room was blue and brightly lit. The doctor was finally there. She smiled, said things that sounded pleasant, and pulled gloves over her hands. Ian screwed his eyes shut tight and felt Mickey’s lips against his forehead, heard his slurred voice in his ears.

            “You gotta stay up, Ian,” Mickey whispered. “You gotta push out a baby right now. Then you can sleep.”

            “Fuck you,” Ian managed. But when the doctor told him to push, he pushed. He breathed when Mickey told him to breathe. He went through the whole horrible, painful experience like a robot taking commands from its masters. And when he heard the screams of the baby, he promptly fell asleep.

 

Ian woke with the sense that he hadn’t been asleep nearly long enough. He caught sight of Mickey dozing in a chair, the early morning light flooding over him like he was a portrait in some old book. Ian tried to sit up and was surprised to find he could and then disappointed at the loss of weight in his belly. He pressed a hand to his stomach, searched for the kicks and the heartbeat and started to panic.

            “Mick, Mick, the baby,” Ian said, too loud, his voice rising too high. Mickey stirred and frowned at him. “The baby. I lost the baby.”

            “You had the baby,” Mickey corrected softly. He carefully uncurled himself and limped towards the bed with a sleepy smile on his face. He brushed the hair off Ian’s forehead. “The baby’s fine. She’s just fine.”

            “She?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ian let out a deep, shuddering breath and rested his forehead against Mickey’s.

            “Do you wanna see her?” Mickey said.

            Ian nodded. Slowly, Mickey helped him out of bed and into a wheelchair. Then he rolled Ian down the hall towards the big glass window that gave them a view of the babies beyond. All of them were wrapped in either pink or blue blankets, cuddled up tight and either sleeping or crying softly. Nurses walked around and picked them up, put them down, cooed softly at them.

            “Which one?” Ian said.

            Mickey tapped on the glass, pointing to a little pink bundle on the far left. Ian looked at her, at the simple label on her crib – _Baby Girl Gallagher_ – and he let out a breath of relief. “She’s so small,” Ian whispered. “How did such a small thing weigh so much?”

            “Her big brain.” Mickey pressed a kiss to the top of Ian’s head. “Just like her daddy.”

            Ian laughed and was surprised to feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He pressed his hand to the glass, wishing she was closer, wishing she was in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him, knowing it didn’t matter. “I can’t wait to take care of you.”


	39. In Mickey's Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pregnant Mickey where Ian is a really protective and loving boyfriend. Mickey pretends that it bothers him but he secretly loves it. (With some Gallaghers in the mix.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts are back open and you're welcome to leave them in the comments!

It starts the day Mickey finds out he’s pregnant. At first, he’s not sure what to think of it. Is it a natural reaction all future fathers have? Is it a sign Ian’s stopped taking his meds? Is it, ultimately, the final straw that will end their relationship?

            It’s nothing, really.

            It’s Ian taking firm hold of his hand when they cross the street to go to the free clinic. It’s Ian freaking the fuck out when Mickey trips and nearly goes down on the sidewalk. It’s having to pull Ian away from the six-foot-two biker who bumps into them on their way out of the grocery store. It’s the thirty-two times that day Ian asks Mickey if he’s all right, if he needs anything, how he’s feeling. Fuck if Mickey ever really knows how he’s feeling.

            Mickey makes it four days before saying something about it. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really mind Ian opening doors for him and getting mad at random strangers – it’s funny and Ian’s hot when he’s angry. But then Ian replaces his Chunky Monkey ice cream with some green crap full of vitamins the baby needs, and Mickey snaps, “What’s with all this bullshit?”

            Ian comes up behind him and stares into the freezer. He starts to massage Mickey’s shoulders almost absently, as if, because they’re there, of course he’ll massage them. But Ian used to make fun of him for asking for foot rubs and throw things at him when he suggested he was tired from working all day long. Then, Ian presses his lips to the back of Mickey’s neck and asks, “What’s wrong and how can I fix it?”

            “You can get my damn ice cream back is how you can fix it,” Mickey snaps. His voice doesn’t quite reach the level of disdain he prides himself on being able to reach at any moment though. Ian’s really good at rubbing shoulders and the cold of the freezer is nice and it’s late and he’s been up since five.

            “Sorry,” Ian says and he sounds genuinely sorry. “I just thought, with the baby on the way, you might want to eat a little healthier and get the guy or gal up to speed before we start with the junk food crap we can afford.”

            Mickey snorts. “How can we afford this?”

            “It was on sale,” Ian says. “Apparently it tastes like ass.”

            “And you still bought it?”

            Mickey can feel Ian’s smirk pressed against his skin. “You like the taste of ass.”

            And normally, Mickey wouldn’t let a comment like that slide, would’t give Ian the leverage. But it’s late and he’s tired and Ian’s trying to be nice, even if he is an asshole. So Mickey turns and kisses him and lets their smiles mingle and their teeth knock together until they find a rhythm to it and Ian pushes him back against the fridge and Mickey can feel the cold air on his neck and he lets his whole body relax under Ian’s careful touches. It’s not only his shoulders he’s open to massaging and Mickey wants his hands everywhere right now.

            So he lets the issue slide and time moves on and Ian keeps being sickeningly sweet, like the kind of crap he used to pull when they were just kids banging at the back of the Kash N’ Grab. He dotes on Mickey. He smiles when he sees him. He seduces him and cajoles him and gets that grin on his face whenever he’s cheeky, like maybe he’s daring Mickey to do something about it, to want to do something about it. And Mickey, even though he loves the ease of their domestic life and their shithole house and an Ian who is so comfortable and used to him that nothing could turn him off now, loves Ian at his naive best even more.

            Mickey learns to manipulate this new Ian fast. If he wants a foot rub? Well, he blames his aching feet on the weight of the baby now being carried in his belly and Ian jumps to the task. If he wants any sort of food? He calls it a craving and Ian’s already at the grocery store. If he’s tired and cranky and the hormones are getting too much, all he has to do is wait and Ian will be around to kiss him, to put his favourite show on, to bend over backwards.

            It lasts a glorious three months before Fiona comes back from her latest housing project and the Gallaghers throw a party for her return. It’s stuffed in their house – what with the six children, their significant others, Frank, and Fiona’s friends – but everyone is in high spirits. Fiona screams when they surprise her and hugs everyone as quickly as she can.

            Mickey spends most of the night in an armchair with Ian perched on the armrest. He leans his weight into Ian, who keeps one hand on his back or his neck or his arm at all times except when he gets up to get drinks or food.

            In one such moment, Fiona plops down on the table in front of Mickey and gives him a hard look as she sips her beer.

            “What?” Mickey snaps.

            Fiona smiles. “Nice to see you too, Mick.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Ian didn’t tell me you two were pregnant,” she says. “Congratulations.”

            Mickey narrows his eyes at her. “Maybe it’s just a beer belly, asshole.”

            Fiona’s smile widens and she glances towards the kitchen as she sips her beer. “You know, it’s really not very nice of you to be treating your boyfriend like your personal servant.”

            “It’s really not very nice of him to get my ass pregnant.”

            She laughs a little. “The way Ian tells it, he practically had to fight you off with a stick so the two of you wouldn’t get pregnant before you could support a kid.” She raises an eyebrow at Mickey. “Is he lying?”

            Mickey shifts in his seat, tries to avoid her eyes. His eyes land on the beer in her hand and more than anything he wants to take a swig of it, wants to feel the familiar sensation of no longer knowing what’s in his head. Especially when Fiona’s here, guilt-tripping him into feeling bad about his boyfriend taking care of him.

            “Just saying,” Fiona says and she rises to her feet. Mickey glances behind him to see Ian heading their way but still hears Fiona add, “Maybe cut the guy some slack for giving you what you wanted.”

            Mickey tries to glare at her but she’s already gone. Ian’s back and Mickey shifts to the side so Ian can slide in beside him on the armchair. There’s no space for the both of them but Mickey doesn’t really mind his body heat and he definitely doesn’t mind Ian wrapping himself around him and starting to kiss him neck and feel up his thigh and make him all hot and bothered in a room with all these people.

            Mickey turns his head to say something, to ask Ian to slow down, but Ian catches his lips and Mickey is gone. He kisses him back hard, desperate, and within seconds, they’re scrambling upstairs and into Ian’s old bed. Never mind it’s not his anymore, hasn’t been his for over a year; it’s like being teenagers again trying to be quiet while there’s a party raging downstairs and their hormones are firing too fast to control.

            Afterwards, sweaty and sleepy, Mickey watches Ian close his eyes as he curls into his shoulder. Mickey wraps his arm around his boyfriend, pulling him closer, and lays a kiss on the top of his head. His thoughts swirl as Ian sighs.

            “Am I taking advantage of you?” Mickey asks, voice soft and sweet and spun like honey. He almost doesn’t want Ian to hear him.

            Ian chuckles and the sound reverberates against Mickey’s chest. “Taking advantage?” Ian echoes. “How would you be taking advantage of me?”

            “By asking you to do all this stuff for me.”

            “You’re pregnant.”

            “I’m not an invalid.”

            Ian laughs again and presses a kiss to Mickey’s bare chest. “I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

            Mickey leaves the conversation at that, lets them settle, but he uses his new powers less as the weeks drag on. He only asks for things he actually needs, actually wants, but even those requests get more frequent as his belly grows. And even though Ian seems genuinely happy to take care of him, brightens even at the mention of helping, Mickey feels the weight of his requests in his own stomach. Ian has a life and a job and something out there other than him. Mickey’s glad he does but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurt and confused by his own emotions and needs and wants and even by Ian leaving in the mornings.

            His belly gets bigger and his emotions get out of hand. He wakes in the middle of the night crying and then Ian doesn’t even get his sleep because he’s up every night rubbing circles down Mickey’s back and trying to calm him down. Mickey leans into it, doesn’t begrudge it, because he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. In the mornings, when Ian is yawning and baggy-eyed, Mickey feels the guilt like a weight in his chest.

            Mickey calls Fiona one night when Ian’s asleep in the next room and the murmur of the TV is so quiet it’s almost static. He says, “I think Ian needs some help,” and he can hear the beginnings of Fiona’s panic when he adds, “with me. I think he needs help taking care of me.”

            And he hates to admit it because he loves Ian doting on him, massaging his shoulders and feet, going for ice cream runs at midnight and coming home to him crying and not even complaining. If he thinks about it, this seems like one of the longest stable periods of Ian’s life, even if he is running on minimal sleep and diminished emotions.

            The Gallaghers come as a hoard the next morning. Fiona and Debbie have a plan to keep everything running smoothly. Mickey can breathe easier even as Ian starts to protest, says it’s up to him, that he’s got everything under control. Fiona simply smiles up at him and says, “Gallagher’s stick together.”

            Debbie mutters, “Where was that attitude when I had Frannie?”

            Fiona nudges her with her elbow but then turns to kiss her temple. Mickey’s heart swells with the love in the room.

            Ian immediately gets more sleep. Carl comes over at night and plays _Call of Duty_ with Mickey until he’s so wiped and angry that he couldn’t even consider waking up in the middle of the night to cry. Before Fiona goes off to work in the morning, she comes over and cooks breakfast for everyone at once, giving Ian a few more minutes of precious sleep. Lip comes over in the afternoons and does his marking on their couch. Mickey mostly ignores him unless he really does need help. Mickey sometimes ignores him even when he does need help – like when he can’t get up off the toilet and spends twenty minutes trying before Ian gets home and laughs at him for a solid hour.

            Then it hits. The real problems. The thing Mickey’s been dreading ever since the stick went pink without really allowing himself to know he was dreading it. He knows he’s been dreading it because the second it happens, the second everything goes down the drain, he doesn’t panic. He doesn’t need to. He’s panicked enough already and at this point, all that’s left is deadly calm and disappointment.

            He wakes feeling the contractions already.

            He wakes already knowing they’re too early. Much too early.

            He’s only five months along – barely five months along – and the contractions are coming in fast and hot. He reaches over and grabs Ian’s forearm. He squeezes, too tightly, and Ian shoots up in bed, concern and worry lining his face and Mickey knows this is exactly what he’s been trying to prevent, exactly what he didn’t want to happen, but he knows right now there’s no way to protect Ian.

            “I’m having contractions,” Mickey says and he’s surprised his voice is so steady. “We have to go to the hospital.”

            “It’s too early,” Ian says, real worry getting lost in the late night confusion.

            Mickey almost laughs. “Call Fiona,” he says, “and get the car.”

            Fiona drives over herself and the two of them huddle into the backseat. Mickey holds Ian’s hand tightly, knowing his boyfriend is more scared than he is, and tries not to see Ian continuously glancing towards his belly as if willing him to keep the baby in. He wishes he could. He wishes he knew what muscles to use to do that.

            And then everything gets worse.

            Mickey feels it like he might feel himself pissing his pants. His water breaks and his underwear soaks and he doesn’t so much as squeak because up until this point, the doctors could have stopped it. They could have kept the baby in. But now there’s nothing left to do and their baby is going to die and even though Mickey can stop himself from saying anything about his water breaking, he can’t stop himself from crying.

            Ian leans in close and kisses the tears off his cheeks. “We’ll get through this,” he whispers. “We can get through anything.”

            Mickey doesn’t know if that’s true. He doesn’t know if anyone can get through this.

            They get to the hospital and Ian and Fiona help him waddle inside. They stop at the desk and Ian rattles through what’s happening and when the nurse asks if his water has broken yet, Ian says, “No,” at the exact moment that Mickey says, “Yes.”

            He can’t bring himself to look at Ian. Not at the nurse’s desk, not when he’s ushered into a wheelchair, not when the heavy hospital doors close behind them. He’s aware Fiona’s left them and now it’s just him, Ian, and the nurses. Ian’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing tight, and Mickey’s no longer sure who Ian’s trying to comfort – him or himself.

            They barely get Mickey dressed and situated before it’s time to push. Only it’s not time to push because pushing comes at the end of the pregnancy and Mickey’s not at the end, he’s barely at the start, and he feels the tears coming again and he hates them, he hates them, he hates them.

            “It’s gonna be okay,” Ian whispers.

            And Mickey snaps, “Get your head out of your ass.”

            Ian jumps back and Mickey’s surprised. He’s surprised Ian would give weight to his words, that Ian would care at all, and he also doesn’t have time to be surprised. The contractions are back and they’re like someone sitting on his stomach and a vice grip trying to squeeze him into a pulp all at once. He screams and Ian is there again, _he’s there, he’s there, he’s there_ , and Mickey’s rambling apologies until the next contraction hits and the doctors are yelling at him to push and _goddammit_ he is pushing.

            “There she is,” says a voice.

            Mickey glances up and sees her. A baby girl so small she could fit in his cupped hands. And he thinks something must be wrong with his ears because she’s not crying and the doctors are rushing her away and Mickey’s the one crying.

            Ian kisses his forehead, kisses his temples, kisses his cheeks. He leans in close and says nothing even though his lips move around words he doesn’t let out. Mickey grips him tight and pulls him forward and tries to ignore the doctors telling him he’ll have to push again soon, get the placenta out. He pulls Ian closer.

            It’s hours before Mickey knows what’s going on again. He’s in his room at the hospital, breathing heavily, trying not to cry again when the doctor steps in. Everyone looks up at her – all the Gallaghers at once – and she does her best to give them all a smile. But it’s a tired smile with wrinkles at the edges and it doesn’t quite meet her drooping eyes.

            So when she says, “Would you like to see your daughter?” Mickey almost doesn’t believe her. She got the wrong room. She read the chart wrong. She’s lying.

            But she’s not lying.

            Mickey lets Ian help him into the wheelchair and push him down the hall after the doctor. They’re led into the NICU and through mazes of tiny plastic domes until they reach one with a label that says _Baby Girl Gallagher_. Mickey almost laughs at the name. Ian or Fiona must have gotten to the doctor before he could, chosen the last name without him.

            He sniffs when he sees the tiny figure in the dome, her chest slowly rising and falling, her tiny hands flailing into nothingness. Ian leans in close behind him, his whole weight against Mickey’s back, and Mickey twists their fingers together.

            “She had some trouble breathing and, of course, she’s a preemie,” the doctor says, voice steady and strained all at once, “but she’s strong and she’s going to be just fine.”

            Mickey reaches forward and sticks his hand through one of the holes in the dome. He gently wraps his hand around hers and then her tiny fingers wrap around him, so tightly Mickey starts to cry again. He never wants to let go.


	40. Big Happy Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'm dying to read one where Mickey and Ian have a bunch of kids (like at least the number of Ian's siblings), and Mickey's always been a stay-at-home dad. Then one day Ian accidentally got Mickey pregnant again after they've sworn off any more kids.

Mickey couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the ruckus outside. If he was being honest, which he usually wasn’t, he couldn’t even remember the last time he could hear his own thoughts. Everything was always _dad, I wanna juice box_ and _dad, Chrissie keeps punching me_ and _dad, when’s dad getting home from work?_ Mickey really wanted just five seconds to himself sometimes, five seconds where he could hear his own thoughts, five seconds where the kids took care of themselves. Five seconds. That’s all he needed.

            A pounding came on the bathroom door. “Dad! I have to pee!” Emily whined.

            Mickey rested his forehead against the mirror and counted to ten as he slowed his breath. The pounding of her fists kept coming, loud and sharp against the door, until all of a sudden, they stopped.

            “There’s another bathroom, you runt,” Yevgeny said.

            “Thank you,” Mickey called wearily. He kept his eyes closed. He tried to convince himself the glass was cold even though it was covered in condensation and shower sweat and the abandoned heat of a dozen grubby hands.

            For a second, silence reigned. Or, as much silence as Mickey could ask for when the house was full of six kids. In the distance, he could hear shouts and screams and new disasters coming to life. But he didn’t want to deal with any of it. Not right now.

            Then another knock came at the door, this one lighter and more controlled. “You okay, dad?” Yevgeny asked.

            Mickey took a breath and backed away from the mirror. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair – fuck, he wasn’t even forty and his hair was already thinning – and hesitated as he reached for the door. He didn’t open it. Instead, he called back, “Yeah. Yeah, just finishing up.”

            Yevgeny didn’t reply and Mickey wondered if that meant he’d been pulled away or walked away or was just standing on the other side of the door waiting for Mickey to stop bullshitting him. Mickey kinda hated that about his oldest kid. Yevgeny was always on top of things, always knew when something was wrong. It was like some kind of sixth sense and he liked to joke that it was the Russian sixth sense of Bullshit. Mickey rolled his eyes at the mirror – he really should never have agreed to joint custody.

            Mickey opened the door to find his son leaning against the wall and staring at him.

            “What?” Mickey snapped.

            “Don’t _what_ me,” he said, his voice almost a perfect imitation of Svetlana’s. Then he grinned, that shit-eating grin that Mickey was sure he didn’t teach him but was also all him. “You know what.”

            Mickey shook his head and then looked both ways down the hall. No kids to be seen. He slumped back against the wall and side-eyed his son. “Why are you here?” he said. “Don’t you have school?”

            Yevgeny shrugged. “Mrs. Clauson kicked me out of Math. So I decided to skip Anthro too.”

            “What’d she kick you out for?”

            “Who knows? She’s a psycho.”

            Mickey raised an eyebrow at him.

            Yevgeny rolled his eyes. “And maybe I was hitting on the TA.”

            Mickey let out a heavy sigh and tried to organize his thoughts into all the lessons he had to teach Yevgeny about why that was wrong and inappropriate and all around a bad idea. He didn’t even want to get into the pregnancy talk – that he could get people pregnant, that he could _get_ pregnant. Mickey just really wasn’t in the mood to have the whole birds and the bees talk again. God knows it hadn’t gone that well the first time.

            “I know,” Yevgeny said, because, of course, being Svetlana’s kid, he was used to entire lectures being contained in a sigh. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Never again.”

            Mickey looked up at him, tired. He had no idea how the kid had gotten so tall. Sure, Svetlana wasn’t short but she wasn’t a giant either. And yet, somehow, when Yevgeny had hit his growth spurt, he’d grown taller than Ian and now, even leaning half his weight into the wall, he was a skyscraper.

            Yevgeny brushed his fingers through his spiky hair. “So,” he said, “you gonna tell me what’s up now?”

            “It’s not your problem.” Mickey turned his head at the sound of a scream and then pushed off the wall to investigate. He could hear Yevgeny on his heels and would have been annoyed had he not turned the corner to see Emily and Chrissie covered in flour. Val was frozen over them, the bag still in her hands, a twisted expression on her face.

            “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. She grabbed the open end of the bag as if that alone would stop there from being a mess all over the kitchen. Then she slammed the bag down on the counter and brought flour-covered hands up to her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

            “It’s all right,” Mickey said, biting back a sigh. He stepped into the cloud of flour and wrapped an arm around Val’s shoulders, pulling her close. She started to sob against his shoulder.

            Yevgeny gave her a worried sideways look as he picked his way into the mess and hoisted both Emily and Chrissie into his arms. Not an easy task – Emily was almost four and Chrissie had turned six the day before and they weren’t small kids by any measure. But he balanced them on his hips and cooed to them as he led them out of the kitchen, hopefully towards the bathroom and a nice, soapy bath.

            “I’m such an idiot,” Val sobbed.

            “Ian never closes those damn bags.” Mickey kissed the top of her head. “It’s not your fault.”

            She sniffed. “I’m just dropping everything these days. I’m so fucking useless.”

            “Hey.” Mickey shook her. “Don’t talk about yourself that way, okay? You’re my smart, beautiful, talented girl. You know that, right?”

            Val laughed against his shoulder and weakly nodded her head.

            As Mickey brushed the hair out of her eyes, slowly easing her off his shoulder, he hesitated over the right words. He knew it was a sensitive topic with her – hell, it was a sensitive topic with the whole family – but he needed to touch on it when he needed to touch on it. Ian wouldn’t say a word, never wanted to admit it, but Mickey knew better than that. He brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb.

            “Val,” he said, slow, soft, “you know that we love you no matter what, right? And that you can tell us anything?”

            She nodded, a hint of confusion wrinkling her brow.

            Mickey took a deep breath. “Mental illness runs in our family.” He held up a hand to quiet her before she could interrupt him. “And I need you to know that we will never think less of you or try to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But we would like to know if you’re feeling bad or weird or whatever. We want you to tell us if you feel like... like...” He swallowed hard, unable to push the words out.

            Val smiled weakly and pulled him in for a hug.

            “I’m okay,” she whispered. “It’s just puberty.”

            Mickey almost laughed but then he choked on it. “You can’t know that.”

            “It’s too early for bipolar to manifest.” She pulled back to look in his eyes. “You know that, I know that, Ian knows that. But I promise you, if I feel shitty, if I ever want to kill myself, you are the first person I will tell.”

            Mickey nodded shakily. He didn’t want to hear the words _kill myself_ from his daughter’s mouth ever again but he’d let it go this time. Just this once. After all, Val had only been three when they’d had that close call with Ian. He doubted she remembered it at all.

            Val sighed. “Guess I should clean this up now.”

            “You better,” Mickey said. “You bet your ass I’m not gonna do it for you.”

            Val laughed and shoved him lightly. “You could at least help.”

            Mickey shook his head. “Make the munchkins do it. God knows they need the discipline.”

            “Where are the munchkins?”

            Mickey felt dread fill his stomach at that question. Or maybe it was just nausea. He gave Val one last pat on the shoulder as she scrubbed away the last of the tears and stepped past her towards the back door. He opened it and shouted, “Munchkins?”

            Two heads popped out from underneath the house. Side by side like that, with dirt covering their faces and matting down their hair, they almost looked like twins. Never mind that Alexei was two years older than Hailey – she had sprouted up so fast she’d been taller than him before she was five.

            “Yeah?” Hailey said, all innocence.

            Alexei spit dirt out of his mouth.

            Mickey sighed as he leaned forward onto the railing. Fatigue worked its way through his bones but he ignored it as he looked down at the kids. “Should I even ask what you’re doing down there?”

            “We’re looking for buried treasure!” Hailey smiled brightly.

            “And checking the foundations,” Alexei added. “Did you know slanted floors and cracks in the walls are signs of major foundational problems?”

            Mickey smirked at him. “Did you know we don’t have the money to fix major foundational problems?”

            Alexei shrugged. “Always good to check.”

            “And find treasure.” Hailey nodded.

            Mickey shook his head. “Get out from under there and...” He trailed off as they both emerged covered in dirt and mud and who knew what else. He licked his bottom lip. “Okay, change of plans. We’re spraying off in the yard.”

            They both started to grumble and complain but Mickey ignored them as he made his way down the stairs. He rounded the house to get the hose and turned the water on full blast. Then he walked back to them, gesturing for them to come closer, but they immediately took off away from him.

            Mickey laughed and sprinted after them, spraying the hose as he went. He caught Alexei first – short legs – and wrapped his arms around him as the hose sprayed down over his hair. As the dirt washed out, it revealed a brilliant red. As Mickey washed, he stopped paying attention, so he really did deserve it when Hailey slipped the hose out of his hand and sprayed him in the face.

            Mickey took off after her – his bones really were getting too old for this shit – and only caught her when she tried to climb the fence. Instead of pulling her down, he took back the hose and sprayed down the back of her freckled legs and washed the mud from her shoes. Alexei grabbed the back of his shirt and Mickey stumbled back before spraying him over the head with water too.

            Soaked and laughing, Mickey convinced Hailey to get down off the fence and corralled the munchkins back into the house. He made them go through the front door so the flour wouldn’t mix with the mud and create all new disasters and then heralded them into separate bathrooms to wash off. To his great relief, Chrissie and Emily sat on the couch, both sparkling clean, as they argued over the remote.

            Mickey made his way back into the kitchen to find Yevgeny and Val almost finished with the cleanup. He loitered in the doorway, trying to catch snippets of their conversation without really eavesdropping. He knew they hated when he did that. He also knew that they said a hell of a lot more to each other than they ever did to him.

            “The cute one? In Math?” Val said, almost conspiratorially. She let out a low whistle. “Big pull.”

            “No pull,” Yevgeny sighed. “I got busted.”

            Val laughed. “That might be a good thing. Dad would have killed you. And him.” She paused for a second. “Both.”

            Yevgeny rolled his eyes and caught sight of Mickey in the doorway. “Really? You’re listening to us again?”

            Val pouted at him. “You know that’s a punishable offence.”

            Mickey raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry I want to know what’s going on in my children’s lives.” Then he side-eyed Yevgeny. “When’d you give up on girls?”

            Yevgeny smirked. “Never gave ‘em up. Just added more people to my hit list.”

            “Disgusting,” Val said.

            “Your boyfriends are more disgusting than mine.”

            “What boyfriends?” Mickey asked.

            They both clammed up immediately. The look they shared was pure conspiracy, an alliance and a threat at the same time – _I won’t tell dad if you don’t._

            Mickey sighed. “This is why I eavesdrop.”

            “Then it’s your turn to pony up,” Val said. She hiked herself up onto the counter and swung her flour-covered legs. “Yev says his bullshit detector’s been going _wee-ooh, wee-ooh, wee-ooh_.” She swirled a finger in a circle as she made the sound.

            “It’s not your job to worry about me,” Mickey said.

            She and Yevgeny shared another look. _Yeah, sure, dad._

            Mickey opened his mouth, ready to argue some more, throw out some more clichés about how he was the parent and they were the children, when the front door opened. Inevitably, this led to Emily and Chrissie screaming, “Ian!” as they leaped off the couch and tumbled into who-knew-what on their way to him. More doors throughout the house slammed – the munchkins, no doubt – and suddenly a cavalry of footsteps was headed down the front hall.

            “You don’t get off this easy,” Val warned, pointing one finger at Mickey.

            Mickey gave her a sideways half smile before he turned to head after the kids. He didn’t manage to catch up to them before they got to the door but he did keep them from bowling Ian over. He pulled them back one by one, rustling hair and giving forehead kisses, to give Ian enough space to take off his jacket and drop his bag.

            “You’re getting slower, old man,” Ian joked.

            Mickey flipped him off.

            Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey and for a moment, Mickey let himself be pulled in by the softness of his lips. His whole world felt quiet when Ian kissed him. Even with the kids clamoring around his feet, he felt like he could hear his own thoughts. When Ian pulled back, he smiled and that moment of connection felt like enough.

            Then Mickey remembered that looks like that were why he had four kids stepping on his feet and he looked away. He looked down at his stomach.

            With carefully placed words and a few light shoves, Mickey managed to get the kids out of the front hall and back to their activities. He scolded the munchkins for trailing mud and water all through the house. He let Emily and Chrissie go to the kitchen for ice cream. Then he leaned against the wall and waited while Ian put his things away.

            Mickey watched him move, watched the gentleness of his fingers, watched the fatigue in his jaw. Mickey reached out and tangled their fingers together. Ian looked his way, his gaze soft and loving. Mickey’s heart almost broke.

            “I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

            “What?”

            Mickey shook his head. “Not now. Once they’re asleep. Or in sugar comas. Or—”

            A wild shriek came from the kitchen. Mickey sighed.

            “I got it,” Ian said. He placed a kiss on Mickey’s cheek and disappeared.

            Mickey closed his eyes and tried to remember what quiet was like. But the only thing he thought of when he thought of quiet were nights when Val and Yevgeny were out late and he lay in bed worried sick they wouldn’t make it home. And he knew, one day, all his kids would be that old or they would move out and quiet would be his new normal. There would be a whole lot of quiet to worry into then.

 

That night, Mickey was half asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t bother undressing past tossing his jeans on the floor. His t-shirt was soft and his boxers would last another day. Given that it was already eleven, he only expected to be asleep for six hours anyways.

            In his half-asleep state, he heard Ian tiptoeing around him, shuffling out of his clothes, moving things around that he might need for the next day, and then heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Mickey liked the soft sound of water hitting porcelain and how Ian murmured out a count of ten as he brushed.

            Then Ian padded back to the bed and his weight came down on the other side of the mattress. Mickey shifted and thought about those mattresses where they dropped a bowling ball on one side and the person on the other couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t imagine wanting that. Even in the middle of the night, he wanted to feel Ian’s every movement, wanted to be sure he was next to him. Because the mornings when he’d woken up not knowing where Ian was, those were the worst ones of his life.

            Ian’s fingers brushed through his hair and Mickey’s kind thoughts turned sour. Ian knew better than to bother him after a long day with the kids. And it had been a _long_ day. Even after Ian had arrived, the kids insisted on causing new disasters that needed to be fixed before the sun could rise on tomorrow. Hell, Mickey had spent the last three hours trying to make a baking soda volcano with Alexei because it was due tomorrow and he’d neglected to tell anyone he even had homework, let alone such complicated homework.

            As Ian’s fingers brushed down his jawbone, Mickey grumbled, “What do you want?”

            “You said you wanted to talk,” Ian whispered.

            Mickey huffed out a breath and felt his brain shutdown. He was pretty sure he didn’t have the mental energy to deal with this right now or ever. He wished he could flip a switch somewhere and things he didn’t have time to deal with would just go away.

            “Does it have anything to do with this?” Ian prompted.

            Mickey raised his head an inch and saw the pregnancy test in Ian’s hand. The positive pregnancy test. He groaned and buried his face back into the pillow.

            “How far along are you?”

            Mickey closed his eyes tight, wishing the pregnancy test and Ian would both disappear.

            No luck.

            “Eight weeks, maybe,” Mickey said. He knew his body well enough to know when he was pregnant. After all, he’d given birth to five other kids. He’d had it down by Chrissie and Emily had only confirmed all his timelines. So he knew he was eight weeks along – he’d passed the morning sickness and was starting to feel bloated all the time and there was a little more pudge to his belly than normal. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t from overeating.

            “How long have you known?”

            Mickey swallowed hard. “Maybe five weeks.”

            Ian carded his fingers through Mickey’s hair, soft and silent.

            “We said no more,” Mickey mumbled.

            “I know.”

            “I didn’t want to take a test,” Mickey said. “I didn’t want to have any more.”

            “We still don’t have to.”

            Mickey let out a bitter laugh. “And pay for an abortion with what money, Ian? We’re flat broke. All our extra dough goes towards Yevgeny’s college and what we can spare from that goes towards Val’s applications.”

            “An abortion is less than the cost of another child.”

            Mickey sniffed. He didn’t want to cry – he never wanted to cry – but eight weeks was around the time when he started to have the uncontrollable urge to sob at everything. He cried when people were mean to him, when they were nice to him, when they gave him things, when they asked him to do things. It was a cycle that got out of hand quick so Mickey liked to rein it in before it even happened once.

            Ian kissed his temple. “What do you want to do?”

            Mickey snapped his head up to glare at him. “What do you want to do?” he countered.

            “It’s your body.”

            “It’s our family.”

            Ian stared at him. He looked so sad like that, so tired, and Mickey realized he had never even asked Ian how his day was. Being a paramedic wasn’t an easy job, he knew, and to have to come home to six kids and an exhausted husband couldn’t be fun.

            Mickey almost said it. He almost let the words roll off his tongue – _let’s abort it_ – when a knock sounded at the door. He turned his head towards it just as Ian said, “It’s open.”

            Yevgeny nudged the door open with his knuckles and Val peeked in from under his outstretched arm. “Gotta check,” Yevgeny said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

            Ian threw a pillow at him. Mickey tried to smile.

            “Is everything all right?” Val asked.

            Ian glanced towards Mickey who held his gaze for a long moment. Then, he sat up, and patted the end of the mattress. Yevgeny and Val came into the room, laden with fast food and milkshakes, which they doled out unceremoniously. Mickey and Ian did their best to keep everything upright on the mattress but it was a lost cause as all four of them shifted into sitting positions, making the bedsprings squeal.

            With a fry halfway into his mouth, Yevgeny said, “So, are you finally gonna tell us what you’ve been so weird about all day?”

            Mickey gulped down a bit of milkshake. He burped. Then he said, “If we tell you guys this, you have to know that none of this is your responsibility. You don’t have to bear the weight of this decision. All right?”

            Val and Yevgeny exchanged a look that Mickey couldn’t quite read. It was somewhere between _our parents love us too much_ and _I think dad’s finally gonna admit he’s in the mob_.

            Val nodded. “All right.”

            “We make our decisions as a family but I...” Mickey trailed off. He glanced at Ian who gave him an encouraging nod. “I don’t want this to be something that scares you or worries you or will make you feel bad if we make a... a difficult decision.”

            Val frowned at him.

            Yevgeny said, “I really do have my own problems to worry about, dad.”

            Mickey’s eyes widened. “What problems?”

            He laughed. “It’s a joke. Tell us what’s up.”

            Mickey suddenly couldn’t get the words out. He was faced with two of his beautiful, perfect children and he couldn’t tell them that he didn’t want more of them. That before he had Yevgeny, he didn’t think he’d want any of them.

            “We’re pregnant,” Ian said.

            The long, slurping sip of Yevgeny’s milkshake stopped the room from dipping into total silence.

            “Shit,” Val said.

            Yevgeny hit her on the arm. “ _Congrats_ ,” he said pointedly.

            Val gave him a sharp look. “No. _Shit_.” She sounded out the word as if it had several syllables.

            “Con. Grat. U. Lations.” Yevgeny repeated. “You should know that word for when your friends get knocked up.”

            “No. When my friends get knocked up, that’s also gonna be _shit_ and also, don’t say shit about my friends when you’re the one whose gonna get pregnant first.”

            “Wanna bet?”

            “A hundred dollars.”

            Yevgeny snorted. “You’ve only got ten.”

            “That’s how confident I am.”

            “Guys,” Ian said. He smiled at both of them as they shut up. “Both responses are fine.”

            “You don’t know if you’re keeping it,” Yevgeny guessed.

            Ian looked at Mickey.

            Mickey swallowed hard and nodded. “After Emily, we said we were done. Six kids was enough. More than enough.”

            Yevgeny shrugged. “So abort it.”

            “It’s just cells, right?” Val said.

            Mickey stared at both of them. “Cells that would become something like the two of you.”

            “Nothing like me,” Yevgeny said. “I’m all mom.”

            Val hit him and he hit her back and Mickey and Ian grabbed one of them each to make them stop. They grumbled out apologies to each other and their dads let them go. They kept shooting each other glares though.

            “We have to make the choice soon,” Ian said, “and it’s not gonna be an easy time for either of us no matter what choice we make.”

            Val swallowed hard and looked down at the fries in front of her. “Did you ever think of aborting me?” she asked.

            Ian frowned.

            “No, never.” Mickey reached out and tilted her chin up. He gave her his best smile. “I freaked the fuck out when I found out I was pregnant but not for a second did I think about making you go away. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

            “Wow. Thanks, dad,” Yevgeny said.

            “You made me marry a woman,” Mickey said. “I don’t take it back.”

            Yevgeny laughed. “In that case, I’m Team Val. Or Team _Shit_. You guys can’t have another kid. Where the hell would you put it?”

            Mickey laughed.

            “Not to mention the money,” Val said. “I’m not giving up my college dreams because you two can’t keep it in your damn pants. Or use condoms. Or birth control. What the fuck is even your excuse for accidental pregnancy in this day and age?”

            “Bad public schools,” Ian said.

            Val snorted and shook her head. “Look. If you guys want another baby, we’ll both chip in.” She nudged Yevgeny as she said it. “And the munchkins will keep it entertained and Emily will be thrilled to no longer be the baby of the family but... if you don’t, you’re not taking anything away from us. You’re not taking away a life. You’re not taking away anything we need.”

            “Dad, you’re exhausted all the time anyways,” Yevgeny said. “We’re too much for you. And you want another one to run after? While Ian’s out at work all the time and I’m at college and soon Val will be at college and... then what?”

            “Then I’ll have someone to hang out with when you all leave,” Mickey said.

            Ian swung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in. He kissed the side of his head.

            “I’m going to be here constantly,” Yevgeny said. “I already am. And I don’t know how to do my own laundry.”

            “I’m _slightly_ more competent,” Val said, “but don’t expect me to suddenly be able to do life without you guys. I’m basically still a child. Shit. I can’t believe at my age you already had _him_. That must have been hell.”

            “And at my age,” Yevgeny replied, “they already had _you_. Talk about hell.”

            She shoved him hard and he tumbled off the side of the bed.

            “Whoa,” Ian said.

            “Get out of here, you two,” Mickey said. “Go to sleep. Stop buying junk food in the middle of the night. Who the hell raised you?”

            “Wolves,” they said in unison.

            Mickey and Ian laughed as their kids leaned forward to hug them goodnight and then made their way out of the room. Mickey reached for the last of the fries, stuffing his face as the door shut behind them.

            “So?” Ian said.

            Mickey looked his way with a smile. “Abortion. We have enough stress in our lives already.”

            Ian smiled back and kissed him. And then they kept kissing, despite the fact that Mickey really wanted to be asleep.


	41. Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mickey feels insecure about his belly - he thinks he looks fat and unattractive. Ian loves the baby bump and thinks Mickey is very sexy, so he confronts him.

Ian had noticed the change a little after three months into the pregnancy. It started little – Mickey would change in the bathroom after he showered instead of walking back to their room clad in only a towel – and then it got bigger – Mickey would insist Ian didn’t look at him when they had sex, didn’t touch his belly. When Ian came back from work, Mickey made a habit of hiding his belly behind random objects like he was a pregnant actress on a shitty sitcom.

            At first, Ian said nothing. Mickey had always been a little sensitive whether he’d admit it or not. Mickey got angry when people shouted homophobic things on the street or snapped at anyone who called him fat. The good-natured ribbings at the Alibi sometimes led to nights where Ian stayed up worshipping every inch of Mickey’s body, reassuring him that he loved exactly how he looked. Mickey was insecure. Ian could deal with insecure.

            It was around six months when Mickey said, “Maybe I should sleep in the guest bedroom,” that Ian got worried. Not worried about their relationship. Not worried about how Mickey felt about him or the baby. But worried about Mickey.

            It felt odd to be on the other side of things, to be the worried partner, to want to do something to help but not knowing what. Ian stayed up in bed that night, unable to get to sleep, thinking about Mickey in the other bedroom. The other bedroom where they kept all the crap they didn’t want to throw away or sell but didn’t use either. The other bedroom where the light bulb was out and the window didn’t close all the way. Why had he let Mickey insist he stay in their room? When Mickey was the pregnant one?

            Ian swore under his breath and scrambled out from under the covers. He knew it was late – all the aching muscles in his body and his drooping eyelids told him that before he saw the numbers on the clock – but he didn’t care. He couldn’t sleep without Mickey. He doubted Mickey could sleep without him.

            He hesitated in front of the bedroom door. Then, leaning his forehead against the wood, he knocked once, soft. “Mickey?” he half-whispered.

            Nothing.

            He knocked louder. “Mickey?”

            “What?” came a soft voice, a voice that didn’t sound much like Mickey.

            Ian let out a deep breath and pressed closer to the door. His hand hesitated on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”

            “No,” Mickey grumbled.

            “Why not?”

            “I’m naked.”

            Ian chuckled. “I’ve seen you naked before.”

            “Not like this.”

            Ian felt his breath catch at the break in Mickey’s voice. He leaned fully against the door, thought maybe he could hear Mickey’s breathing. If he closed his eyes, he could picture him on the other side of the door – curled up on his side with the body pillow, sheets barely covering his porcelain skin, looking like he might freeze to death even though he was perfectly warm to the touch.

            “I love you,” Ian said. “I think you’re beautiful.”

            Mickey scoffed. “Go away.”

            “I’m serious.” Ian waited. “You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

            “I’m fat and sweaty and I ate three boxes of Oreos today.”

            Ian muffled a laugh. “How did you afford Oreos?”

            “I stole ‘em.”

            Ian actually laughed now. His fingers twisted around the doorknob again and he gave it an experimental push. The door collided with the end of the bed, leaving only the smallest sliver of space to get through. “Did you move the bed to block the door?” Ian said, forgetting to be soft and sounding accusatory.

            “Maybe,” Mickey mumbled.

            “You shouldn’t be moving beds on your own.”

            “I won’t do it again.”

            “You’ll have to do it again to get out.”

            “Then I won’t come out.”

            Ian felt his heart in his throat. “Mickey...”

            “Don’t ‘Mickey’ me. I know exactly what that tone of voice means.” Mickey snapped. He huffed and the bedsprings squeaked. “I’ve used that tone enough on you to know what it means.”

            “Then you know it means you’re acting fucking insane.”

            Mickey hummed like he was considering that. “I always thought it more meant ‘I’m concerned for your well-being’ but whatever floats your fucking boat.”

            Ian sighed and shoved at the door. It didn’t budge any further and the sound of it hitting the end of the bed repeatedly only gave him a headache. He slammed it shut. “Mickey, this is ridiculous. You’re six months pregnant. You can’t spend the next three months locked in our guest bedroom just because you think you’re fat.”

            “So you think I’m fat too?”

            “No, I don’t...” Ian bit off the remark with a sigh. He hit his head against the door harder than he meant to and closed his eyes against the pain. “Mickey. You’re pregnant. You’re carrying a human being inside of you. You had to know you were going to gain weight.”

            Silence met his words.

            “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care. You still look amazing.” Ian felt the tremble in his voice and tried to steady it. “I love you. Every inch of you. And I love that baby. And I love that baby bump. And you are gorgeous and sexy with it.”

            “Well, that’s pervy.”

            “Mickey.”

            A sigh came from the other side of the door. It opened back up, just a crack, and Ian peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see Mickey, couldn’t find him in the shadows. He was pretty sure he was staring at three lopsided cardboard boxes.

            “What if I don’t lose the weight?” Mickey whispered.

            “Who cares?” Ian said. “You think I’m with you ‘cause of how skinny you are?”

            “The thought had occurred to me.”

            Ian let out a light chuckle. “I’m with you because I love you.” He snaked his hand in through the open door, searching. Mickey’s fingers curled around his and he squeezed. “And I love you because of who you are, not what you look like. But I can promise you that no matter what you look like, I think you’re beautiful.”

            “Even if I get my face burned off?”

            “Especially then.”

            Mickey’s fingers left his.

            Ian sighed. “It was a joke, Mickey! A badly timed joke, but still a—”

            He cut himself off as the bed scraped across the floor. The door swung open and Mickey stood there in front of him, the bedsheet wrapped around his waist and his arms crossed over his belly. Ian smiled at him, cautious.

            Mickey said, “Wanna say that to my ugly face?”

            Ian stepped forward and kissed him. Slowly, softly, sweetly. He caressed Mickey’s cheek and let his hand fall down his neck, over his chest, to rest on the baby bump. Ian broke the kiss to look into Mickey’s eyes. They were too close together to really see each other but Ian smiled all the same. “Please don’t hide from me again.”

            “I still don’t believe you,” Mickey said. “I’m still fat.”

            Ian kissed him again and hummed against his lips. “Guess I’m just gonna have to prove how sexy I think you are.” He started to kiss down Mickey’s neck, leaving little bites as he went. “Gonna have to prove how much I want you.”

            Mickey laughed a little and shoved against his chest. “Okay, tough guy.”

            Ian grumbled and pushed Mickey back. He pressed him against the wall and started to kiss down his chest, careful to give every part of Mickey careful attention. He caressed his baby bump and kissed his stretched bellybutton. He looked up at Mickey with a smile. “I’ll keep going,” he said.

            “You better,” Mickey said. “I like you better on your knees anyways.”

            Ian laughed and sunk down to the floor.


End file.
